Stepping Stones
by edens chaos
Summary: Uncle Vernon lied. There is such a thing as magic. After being chased by Dudley and appearing on the school roof, Harry masters his ability to "step" and uses it as a means to escape his relatives. He finds himself stepping into a whole new world, one that can utilize his special skill. But can he find a family there? [Borgin&Burkes, Nocturne Alley, Grey!Harry, AU]
1. Rules

A new story, quite different from The Balance. Hopefully more fast paced, but no promises, aha.

From Harry's POV, starting with the Dursleys for the first several chapters. Mild corporal punishment in this chapter.

* * *

The first rule that Harry learned was from his relatives.

Nothing in life is free and everything had it's price.

His uncle constantly bemoaned the fact that Harry was costing them money to raise. The clothes he wore, the room he stayed in, the food he ate, the school supplies he was allowed to use, everything was money taken from his relatives' purse to fund his living with them. And they demanded payment for it.

In return for food, he was made to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. In return for pencils and paper, he tidied and vacuumed the living room. For Dudley's hand me down clothes, he helped with the laundry once a week, every Saturday morning. As a place to sleep, he was given a small cot and blanket, set up in the entry hall cupboard under the stairs, where he was left when there was no cleaning or use for him.

The first time he'd ever held a 10 pound note was at the age of 5. Harry, his aunt and his cousin had just left the grocery store after a shopping trip, with Dudley throwing a temper tantrum in the midst of their walk home. He wanted cookies, and he wanted them now.

Aunt Petunia, doing her best to calm her precious Diddums down, had pulled a note from her purse and slapped it into his little hand, demanding he run back to the store and purchase the box of fudge biscuits and not a thing more. He was to bring her the receipt and change, and she would be checking to make sure not a single pence was missing.

At 5 years old, Harry had never dealt with the word "change" or "receipt" before, but he dutifully responded with a programmed "Yes, Aunt Petunia" and took off back to the store. Standing in line with the orange slip of paper and a box of biscuits, he watched as the housewives of the surrounding neighborhoods purchased cart loads of food items, handing over paper and coins in exchange.

When it was his turn, he placed the box on the counter, and then handed the nice lady his own piece of paper. She smiled down at him, praising him for being such a big boy that he could buy his own sweets. He'd smiled back, shyly, and told her that they weren't for him, but for his cousin. He didn't really understand why her smile grew, or why she patted him on the head, but then she handed him a bag with the biscuits as well as a little candy, along with a handful of coins wrapped in a slip of paper.

His Aunt was not where he had left her on the side walk, and so he toddled back to the house on #4 Privet Drive. Clutching the grocery bag in one hand, and the coins and candy in the other, he thought about how he could savor the little sweet. The only time he got such treats was when it was a classmates birthday, and their parents brought in sweets and cakes for the class. If he was careful, his cousin would be too distracted by the biscuits to notice one little piece of candy.

When he finally reached the house, Aunt Petunia met him at the door, berating him for being so slow. She pulled the bag and change quickly from his grasp, and with his tiny little hands unable to hold a proper grip, the coins, paper, and candy were scattered through the entrance hall.

Aunt Petunia let our a frustrated sigh and bent to pick them up, snapping at him to hurry up and help her. When she spotted the candy, she went extremely still.

"Where did you get this?" she asked in a low voice, holding up the small drop of hardened sugar.

"The lady gave it to me." Harry's voice was small, knowing by the tone of her voice that he'd done something wrong, but unsure as to what, apart from dropping the coins.

"Do you think I'm going to believe that?" she cried, grabbing him by the arm, digging her nails into his skin. "You better not have spent a single pence on this boy, or you won't know what's coming to you."

The next moment was spent counting the change, and when she realized it was all there, her anger remained unsatiated.

"You little thief." She hissed slowly, jerking him closer. Her hands shook with anger as the clawed at him. "After everything we've given to you? Do you think it's fine to take something that's not yours, just because you want it? What would we do if the neighbor's found out we have a thief in our home!"

"But I didn't steal it!" Harry denied vehemently, uncomprehending as to why she was so furious at him, and a little scared at what was going to happen.

"You lie." She hissed, her lips pulling back in an ugly snarl. "You always speak lies! You are nothing but a liar and a thief, just like your parents." She stood and dragged him a short ways down the hall.

"You, boy, are going to stay in your closet. Vernon will want a word with you when we get home. You'll not be having supper tonight. If you're going to steal food like a little hellion, you don't deserve any of the food us normal people spend good money on to purchase."

Throwing the door open, she forced him into the closet, where he landed on the little cot. Harry's eyes watering, he called once more, "But I didn't steal it. She gave it to me and said I'm a good little boy! She did!"

Aunt Petunia glared down at him, causing Harry to flinch and sniffle. "Don't you lie to me boy! I won't listen to a word more. You are a bad little boy, no one gives bad little boys candy. Only good, hard working boys like Dudley get sweets, and we spend our hard earned money on those. Thieves who simply take what they want are the worst sort of people. "

The door to the closet was slammed shut and locked, leaving Harry to sit and cry as he absorbed what had just happened. If he needed money to buy sweets, then why had the lady handed him the candy? Had she expected him to pay, and he'd just rudely left?

He felt his face burn in shame, to think that he really was a bad little boy like Aunt Petunia said. He was a thief. He hadn't meant to though! Maybe he could pay her back? He vowed that if he ever had some of his own coins, he would go back and pay her, just to erase the fact that he had taken something without fair exchange. Nothing in life was free, and everything had a price.

* * *

The second rule came from his teachers.

Never be late.

When Harry had attended nursery school, his Aunt Petunia had walked both her son and nephew to the school. It wasn't too far for an adult, about 10 minutes or so, but it was an absolute adventure to a curious 3 year old boy like Harry. After he'd stopped to pick up an interesting rock or a curious piece of garbage for the third time, he was smacked over the head and told to stop dawdling.

Some days, Dudley would be fussy, demanding all of his aunt's attention on the walk to school, which she willingly gave him, and Harry was often forgotten. He may have stopped to watch a caterpillar crawl along a bush, or play in the water that sparkled in a puddle after the rain, or simply staring at nothing, daydreaming of red hair, green light, and flying through the air in an uproarious contraption of fantasy.

Aunt Petunia would arrive at the preschool to find him no longer following behind her. She would often discover him in a neighbors front lawn on her way home from delivering Dudley, and having been unable to tell the truth as to where her nephew was, she would drag him home and lock him in his cupboard as punishment, telling him he was "sick" and could go to nursery school tomorrow.

Harry never necessarily felt it was punishment. After all, he didn't really like nursery school as none of the children would play with him, and he was always getting in trouble for something that was Dudley's fault. Sometimes it was more fun to spend the day dreaming inside his closet, or helping Aunt Petunia with chores.

His aunt continued to walk them both to school, even when they reached the age of their reception year and began attending classes at the local elementary school, St. Grogory's.

However, the days where Harry joined his aunt and cousin became sporadic. Sometimes Dudley would have a crying fit over a toy, or food, and Aunt Petunia would usher Harry out the door, sending him to walk to school on his own. Whenever the teacher's at the gate noticed him coming alone, and they bothered to ask him why, he would always tell them the truth, because that's what Aunt Petunia said good little boys like Dudley always did. He would tell them that Aunt Petunia was with Dudley, who was crying.

More often that not, Harry's two missing relatives would soon appear around the bend shortly after he arrived, and the teachers soon began to assume that Dudley had a temper tantrum on the way to school and Harry had simply kept walking. After all, there was no feasible reasoning in their minds that could suggest Harry was coming all the way to school on his own.

At the beginning of his first year as a student, Harry was officially left on his own in the mornings. It was then that his daydreaming quickly became a problem.

During the first week of school, he had wandered into the classroom 30 minutes after the lesson had already started. He'd been forced to stand outside of the classroom, holding two buckets filled with water, missing the rest of the lessons until break. When he'd finally been allowed to set the buckets down, his arms and fingers were sore and numb, and he was embarrassed further by his teacher spending the recess break lecturing him.

"Being late is disrespectful to me as your teacher, it is disrespectful to your classmates who are here on time, and it is disruptive to their learning. Bad children who are late do not deserve to join the lessons."

Harry had come to enjoy his classes at elementary school, art and reading time especially, and was horrified to be forced to sit out on such fun lessons as punishment. His final punishment had led to his knuckles being rapped by a ruler in front of the other children, who giggled and whisper about him as he retook his seat.

He was never late again.

* * *

The third rule he learned was from his uncle, one that was easy enough for him to follow, but hard because he really didn't understand it.

The events leading up to the rule had started at school, on a normal day when Harry had been playing by himself, off to the side of the rest of the children, but still within sight of a recess teacher. Dudley had come out of nowhere and began to pick on Harry, starting a fight that brought the several staff members running.

As they were pulled apart, Dudley began screaming about Harry breaking his crayons. It was eventually discovered that all the crayons that had been laid out for their upcoming art class had all been broken in half. Harry was quickly brought up to the principle's office.

When questioned, he truthfully stated that he knew nothing about the crayons and that Dudley had started the fight on the playground. Dudley however, claiming witness to the act, called Harry a liar. The principal seemed to agree. Punishment for lying, she stated, was 3 swishes on the buttocks. In disbelief, Harry struggled, even as the principal forced him to bend over a desk.

During the short struggle, a sudden fizzle in his energy left him slack against the hands holding him down, and it was with tired reluctance that he received the cane across his small back. He almost didn't even feel the pain as three switches slapped against his clothed behind. When he was pulled up, he sleepily opened his eyes to a vision of bright blue.

The principal's hair, which had been brown only moments before, was now a brilliant aquamarine. Too tired to really comprehend what he was seeing, he was sent back to his classroom without another word, where art was almost finished, many children glaring at him as they colored with their broken crayons. Not even a full 2 periods later was he called back to the office to be absurdly accused of having dyed the principal's wig blue!

Despite evidence that came from his teacher claiming that he hadn't left the classroom in the time since he had last seen her, the principal said she would be sending a note home with him to the Dursleys. He thought about hiding the note, but his entire class, including Dudley, had caught wind of the principal's now blue hair, and he knew Dudley would be racing to tell his parents.

In fact, when he left the school building to begin his walk home, Dudley and Aunt Petunia were still waiting outside the school gate. The smirk on Dudley's face, and the icy glare of Aunt Petunia told him that he was in far more trouble than a few switches from the principal's cane.

The walk home was quiet, interspersed with giggles and chatter from his cousin; his cupboard was dark and quiet after he was locked inside, and the house was quieter still after he heard Uncle Vernon return home that night. Harry sat as silent as he could, wondering why nothing had happened yet.

Most of the teachers at school had been angry and loud and noisy because of the principal's bright blue hair. Everyone had said it was his fault, but he hadn't touched her wig. She had yelled at him for breaking the crayons, hit him for breaking the crayons and when he'd left the room, her hair was blue. It was like…

The door unlocked with a click. A purple faced Uncle Vernon stood outside, grabbed his arm, and dragged him down to the basement laundry room. He was pushed inside, falling to the floor next to the washer and dryer, and left staring up at his uncle.

"What did you do boy." His voice growled.

"I didn't do anything, Uncle Vernon, I swear!"

A hand flew across his mouth with a snap, shocking him. Uncle Vernon had never hit him before.

"Don't lie to me boy. What. Happened."

"Somebody broke all the crayons, not me, not me!" He flinched, expecting another blow, but it didn't come. "The principal gave me 4 canes, and I went back to class."

"What did you do to her hair, boy?"

"I didn't do nothing. Mrs. Moore will vouch for me! I never left the classroom! Her hair just turned blue suddenly! It's like magic!"

Uncle Vernon grew very still and quiet. Harry peeked from between his hands, startled at the absolute white of his uncle's face.

"What did you just say boy?"

Hoping to absolve himself of guilt, he repeated, "Her hair just suddenly changed blue, like magic or a witch!"

The smack that came his way hit him so hard that he fell to the ground, falling the floor with such a shock that he was momentarily left unable to breathe. His head throbbed from where it had connected with the stone floor, but he was still able to absorb his uncle's words.

"THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC!"

He'd gotten three swats from his uncle's belt after that. When he'd woken in the morning, his head and buttocks still aching, he had wondered why the house was so quiet, and why no one had come to wake him. Aunt Petunia woke him again in the afternoon with a sandwich and a glass of water. She avoided looking at him, but gave him a warning before he went back to his cupboard.

There's no such thing as magic, so he'd best not say the word ever again.

* * *

Kinda hard to ask what you think when this is only the first chapter, but I hope to have the next few chapters out in a bit. I wrote the first third of this story for NaNoWriMo in November, so the first third is 50k words, minus some unnecessary scenes.

Some keywords for whats to come in this story.

Caractacus Burke and my original character his son Arvirargus Burke, as well as (Cassius) Borgin. So basically Borgin and Burkes will be a huge part of this story.

Magical underground, transporters, Class A Non-Tradeable Goods, the Philosopher's stone, betrayal, Voldemort, fake names, etc. There will be Hogwarts in this story, but I'm hoping to skim through when Harry is at school, and age him up quickly once things get going.

Who knows what will happen though. That's the fun of writing!

Please review and/or favorite and/or follow~


	2. Harry Hunting

Short, only about 3000 words~ I'm hoping to continue updating like this, short and with each chapter more like a scene, compared to the The Balance, where chapters have multiple long scenes and average about 10k per chapter. Hopefully I can try updating once every two weeks or so, but no promises! It's my New Years Resolution, and we all know how those tend to play out.

* * *

From their first year of attendance, Dudley and his group had made it known that Harry was not to be played with. Within the first month of their first year, everyone had learned to stay well away from Harry, both at recess and during group projects.

If anyone invited him to join them, or acted in anyway friendly with him they would quickly find themselves the target of abuse; hitting, scratching, broken toys, and sabotage in the classroom during lessons. If anyone were paired up with him, Dudley would give them the stink eye, and they would do their best not to interact with him. He was most often left to do all the work himself, or his partner wouldn't let him help at all.

It was almost as if he had become a ghost within the classroom. He was even ignored by the teacher, who almost always passed over him when looking for a volunteer to answer her questions. Harry didn't mind. If the teacher didn't know his work was done, he was able to use it as an excuse to stay in from recess, avoiding his cousin.

In order to escape his cousin outside of classes, he'd looked for options outside of the playground. Once he learned that there was no actual rule preventing students from utilizing the library outside of class time, it quickly became his haven.

It was where he could go during recess, lunch, free periods, and stay after school and out of Aunt Petunia's hair. He could slip off to the library to surround himself with peace, quiet, and more importantly, books. He could learn so much about the world and everything in it, far more than what he was learning in his classes.

At the end of Year 3, he'd taken the librarian's test for his reading level, and passed with flying colors. All the books were sorted with little colored stickers depending on reading difficulty, and his library card was now stamped with the double black pass. Far surpassing all of his classmates, he was allowed access to every book in the library, the same as the year 6 students.

He never checked out any books, as Dudley's destruction of his school issued textbooks was more than enough evidence of how much trouble he would get in if he took any library books home with him. However, he now had permission to touch the more advanced books the filled the shelves. Not even all of the Year 6 students could access such books, and as the summer between Year 3 and Year 4 came to an end Harry was looking forward to seeing what information he could glean from their bright white pages.

Unfortunately for Harry, his luck at avoiding his cousin had come to an end. The day that Harry and Dudley started Year 4 at St. Grogory's was the day that Dudley began a new game at recess. Normally he would go to the library to avoid his cousin, which was just what he did, but a new teacher had joined the ranks that year.

He was a young, fit man, who had taken over the physical education class, and was of the mind that all children needed to be out jumping and running and play during recess. His goal was to have his students healthy in both mind and body.

It was on the first day of school, during afternoon recess, when the new teacher spotted Harry in the library. He was tucked into a corner, a large book propped up on his knees, mostly hidden from view apart from the hallway the teacher was currently walking down. Harry, completely absorbed in his book, didn't notice his presence until the teacher was standing in front of him, and the man plucked the large book from out of his fingers.

Despite the noise of protest Harry made, reaching his hands up towards the pages he'd been emerged in so deeply, the teacher only hauled him up from the ground with a smile on his face.

"What are you doing in here chap? You should be out playing with the other children." His voice was cheerful and filled with energy.

"I was reading, sir. Could I have my book back? It was just getting interesting," Harry replied, hand still reaching for the children's encyclopedia on human anatomy.

It was one of the books he'd been waiting all summer to read. He wanted to know why his skin turned blue and purple sometimes after getting hit, why his blood was red, what his bones were and what happened when he broke them. He had so many questions he wanted answers for, and this book was just where he needed to look.

"Unfortunately, lad, this book is a bit too big and advanced for a first year like yourself. It's got two little black stickers on it, here see?" The teacher closed the book, pointing to the circles located above the book call number. "This means it's only for 6th years."

"I'm a third year, not a first year." Harry gave an affronted look. "And I passed Mrs. Findug's test. I have permission to read double black."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his library card, normally stored in his locker but required for access to the library. The teacher took it, smiled and then ruffled his hair after handing it back.

"You are correct, Mr. Potter, sorry about that. You must be quite smart to be reading at this level! But even smart little boys need to get their exercise. So let's go outside and run around!"

Harry tried to protest again, but to no avail. The book was set on a random shelf, sure to anger Mrs. Findug, before the teacher pulled him outside to the screaming, writhing mass that was his elementary school playground.

Not accepting just having brought Harry outside, the teacher dragged him further, toward a group of children bouncing a large red ball amongst them. Several of the children within the group were from his own class. They eyed him warily and began whispering to one another as he came towards them involuntarily.

The game stopped as everyone turned to look at them. Harry felt his face burning red at their stares, while the teacher remained undaunted by the looks, or simply oblivious, Harry couldn't tell, as he stopped before them.

"Hello there children. Can Mr. Potter here join in on your little game?" spoke the teacher, his overly cheerful voice slowly starting to grate on Harry's nerves.

When he received neither positive nor negative replies, his smile grew and he clapped his hands together once.

"Wonderful! I'll let you get on with the game. Have fun, Mr. Potter." With a wink, he turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing their awkwardly.

He knew the other children didn't want him there, and he didn't want to be there, but surely that teacher would be watching to make sure he actually played and didn't slip off back into the library.

In a small voice, he broke the silence. "Just… go back to your game. I'll leave when he's not looking."

He knew the other children would be hard pressed to go against a teacher's orders, but none of them wanted to be targeted by the school yard bully. Harry didn't really want to paint a target on them either, but it always hurt to acknowledge that there would never been anyone to stand beside him when Dudley eventually came for him. They would all rather protect themselves and leave him the only outcast for it. It was no skin off _their_ backs.

The child currently holding the ball reluctantly nodded, and bounced the ball once towards another student. They passed it around a few times, never tossing it to him. Ever so slowly, keeping his eye on the teacher who had finally turned away from their group to speak with another staff member, Harry began to edge away.

Step by step, he backed himself towards the fence which would be his best route to slink his way over to the tunnels in order to hide out for the rest of the recess period. As his back hit the fence with a small clank, he breathed a sigh of relief, having made it this far.

"Hey, it's Harry."

A shiver ran up Harry's spine at the voice before he felt himself freeze, shoulders stiffening and his leg stopping it's descent mid-air. That was the voice of Piers, Dudley's best friend.

"HEY DUDLEY!" the boy shouted. "HARRY'S HERE!" Like a deer in headlights, Harry couldn't move, looking left and right for an escape. He knew it was pointless as he watched them circle about him. Dudley's gang came from every direction, blocking off any exit he might have made if he hadn't frozen up. When Dudley approached, Harry felt the fear begin to build in his chest. There was a dark glint in his cousin's eye.

"Hey, Harry, where ye been? We were looking for you." There was a ripple of laughter through the group. "You see, we just thought up a game that would be _great fun_ if we could play with you. Want to know what it's called?"

This time the laughter was more audible, especially from the one on Dudley's right, a squealing pig like laughter coming from Piers. Harry really didn't want to know, as he already knew what to expect, but Dudley was waiting for an answer.

"Sure," he whispered.

Dudley gave a vicious grin, a startling expression for anyone to see on an eight year old's face, but lucky for Dudley, he was facing away from the teachers.

"You heard him boys. Let go Harry Hunting!"

Harry was off and running, dodging around the smallest of Dudley's group and slipping past the rest before they could even react.

His feet pounded against the pavement as he heard shouts of anger coming from behind him, calling for a them to chase him. His small frame was just the right size to dodge through the massive number of children currently outside. He was swerving around the group playing with the ball, diving over a game of jacks, and weaving and bobbing through the children playing tag.

Each foot was barely touching the ground before he was pushing on onto the next step, using as much force as needed to change his trajectory through a game of hopscotch. He could hear the bigger members of Dudley's crew crashing into the other students, and their shouts of indignation were sure to draw the attention of the teachers on duty. All he had to do was keep running, and keep away, until they noticed.

Circling again, he jumped through a game of double dutch, passing through so quickly he had no time to get caught in the plastic tangles. His closest pursuant was not so lucky. He heard the other boy go down heavily, and a wail of pain rang out over the other screaming children. THAT got the teacher's attention, and they came running over to investigate.

Harry slowed down, assuming he had lost most of them, and that the others were distracted by the shouting teachers who were trying to control the chaos now reigning through the playground. He noticed that he was near the tunnels again. No one liked to play in those except the little kids in their reception year, and they had a different recess time. There would be no one over there.

Crouching down as he began to crawl into the tunnel, a kick to his back sent him sprawling to the side. A hand on his neck pressed down and forced his face into the dirt and wood chips, while a heavy body took a seat on his lower back, forcing the air from his lungs in one fell whoosh.

"I hunted Harry," came the sing song voice of his cousin, the only one who was fat enough to cause such distress to his rib cage simply from sitting on them.

Harry felt a well of frustration and anger build inside at the situation. He had been _so close_. None of this would have happened if not for that teacher. If he hadn't forced him from the library, his only safe space… Why couldn't the adults just leave well enough alone?

"What should we do with him, Duds?" A voice came from above him. His nose was beginning to hurt from being forced into the ground, and the only thing he could see was a hint of trainers from the corner of his eye.

"Why don't we show him the running from us hurts more than just standing there and taking in."

"But aren't we supposed to chase him for it to be Harry Hunting?"

"Shaddap, don't be such a pillock."

Their argument was helping to delay the inevitable. Harry could only hope that a teacher might come looking for them before they had a chance to really begin.

The last time he'd been caught amongst them, he'd been kicked and punched and stomped on. Luckily, nothing had broken, and he'd done his best to protect his stomach and head, but he'd caught sight of his back that night after his shower, and it had turned black and blue, leaving him unable to sleep properly for a week.

"Let's just do it already, come on fellas."

He felt Dudley heave himself off his back as the others crowded closer.

Knowing it would backfire even as he did it, he scrambled forward and away from them, desperately trying to reach the tunnel that was only centimeters in front of him. If he could make it inside, it would be harder for them to get at him.

The first blow to his stomach was so shocking, that it sent him rolling and knocked the air from his lungs for a second time. The second stomp prevented him from taking another breath.

He was suffocating, his chest burning in agony from the lack of oxygen needed to supply a brain that was in flight mode. He choked a couple of times, gasping, trying to bring air into his collapsed lungs and re-inflate them. His muscles and organs refused to cooperate.

The hollow ringing of a bell prevented his tormentors from continuing. As they finally laid off, he took one desperate breathe, and began to hyperventilate as his chest expanded, sweet, sweet oxygen returning to his system.

"Hurry up!"

"Let's get out of here!"

Shouts and foot steps faded as the group left him there to recover, bounding for the school doors as the children began to flow back to their classrooms.

Harry sat up, still coughing and unable to breathe correctly, he watched them go. Bringing himself to his feet, he took in the damage. Scrapped hands and a scrapped knee showing through a tear in his jeans, a painful red welt on his stomach, and his burning lungs. Not as bad as it could have been, Harry thought, thanking his lucky stars. There wasn't too much pain yet, but he knew it would be a different story tomorrow.

Trudging his way slowly back to the school, he fell in line with the last of the stragglers. Standing by the door making sure everyone was heading back in was the teacher from earlier, watching them all with a pleased smile on his face.

Harry stared at him defiantly, and when he caught sight of Harry, the smile faltered for just a moment before tightening. Harry imagined what he must look like, his hair and glasses askew, with obvious scuffs and rips that had not been there when the teacher had brought him outside. To top it all off, were the dirt stains and wood chips stuck to him, that he brushed off before he stepped through the door.

When he walked by, the teacher spoke to him. "Did you enjoy your recess? Running around feels good doesn't it?"

Harry stopped for a split second, and stared at the man. Were adults really so obtuse? Did he not recognize that Harry hadn't enjoyed a single moment outside? That he was obviously hurt, and should probably be going to the nurses office? The man's eyes tightened further and his smile grew pinched at Harry's continued silence, his face a caricature of a grimace. It was then that Harry realized.

This teacher knew exactly what had happened. Or at least, he could now connect the dots. The other children's adversity to him, the obvious signs of a scuffle, the fact that he had been in the library, rather than outside. He might not know who did this to Harry, but he could tell it had happened. And he, the adult, refused to comment on it, despite it being his fault. Harry glared at the man, turned, and stomped the rest of the way to the classroom.

The next day, as he sat in the library reading his anatomy book, his stomach, ribs and pancreas as he now knew, all aching, the teacher walked past once more.

Harry looked up from his book and watched the man come closer, walking past the low bookshelves that separated the library from the hallway. He held eye contact, narrowing his own in challenge, following him down the hall even as the man looked away.

The refusal to hold his eyes, to even _smile_ at him again told Harry all he needed to know. The teacher felt guilt, he knew his actions had led to Harry getting hurt. Yet even as the adult, he couldn't apologize, or talk to him, or ask what had happened or what he could do to help.

As the teacher finally passed by, Harry had to stop and close his book for a moment. A painful feeling welled up in his gut and caused a burning in his eyes. He felt so betrayed. These adults were supposed to be taking care of him, making sure nothing happened to them. When one child pushed another, the one in the wrong was punished and the victim was comforted. But not for Harry.

 _Never_ for Harry.

He could no longer trust these adults. He'd long since given up on the other children, but now even the adults lack of care for his well being appeared all the more real.

He would no longer trust anyone.

He only had himself.

* * *

Things will start getting a little better from the next chapter, before they get worse.

Please give me a follow or a favorite if you like this story~ Or a review if you're feeling up to it, although I know it's not much yet~


	3. Up On The Rooftop

Some days, Harry could spend every break inside the library, and forget the rest of the school as he fell into the world of books. Fiction and non-fiction, science, history, encyclopedias, he absorbed everything that came across the page and grew his vision of the world.

Other days, he was rudely interrupted.

The first time Dudley had come in search of him, Harry had been so shocked to see his cousin near books that he'd sat there in stupor. He'd been quickly spotted and left flailing to escape. His small body and quick feet made that day's escape a success, but each day it continued as a game of cat and mouse.

Sometimes Harry could set his book down, and slip out of the library without making a disturbance as Dudley came after him. Other times, and Harry was able to ensconce himself under a table, at just the right angle to stay hidden from Dudley's eyes. His cousin usually gave him fair warning of his approach, with heavy foot steps and loud talking.

One day in the middle of October, however, he found himself absorbed in a book on ancient inventions, and remained oblivious to a lurking presence until he heard a voice.

"Hah, found him."

His head shot up to see Dudley looking down at him, the short bookcase he was leaning against the only barrier between them. Without even a moments delay, Harry snapped the book closed and slid it into the bookshelf before he stood and broke to the left.

Dudley's slow reaction time, and the fact that he was on the other side of a book shelf made his escape easy. Harry took off down the empty hallway, pushing open the doors that led outside. He lurched to a shocked standstill, as standing in a semi-circle around the bottom of the stairs was Dudley's gang. He realized in an instance that Dudley had gotten a whole lot better at this Harry Hunting thing.

Still, he was faster than all of these bullies.

Turning right, he grabbed the railing and jumped over, landing heavily on his feet before running for all he was worth. Bet they hadn't expected that. He took them on a grand chase around the school and through the grounds, using the hedges, trees and fences as blockades to slow the bullies down. What he didn't expect after three minutes of all out running, was that there would be a locked gate in his way.

As he stood panting next to a dumpster, he glared at the wire fence, and the padlocked chain the draped across it. Why was it locked, today of all days? It was always open when he used it as an escape route!

Looking around, he sought a place to hide instead. It was a fruitless endeavor. So this is what it must feel like to be a hunted animal, he thought, with a predator hot on its heels and no where to go.

He climbed onto the dumpster, wondering if he could somehow jump the fence. Reaching a hand out towards the metal pole, he almost lost his balance before he realized it was too far. With a huff, he stared up at the 3 story high brick wall of his elementary school.

Could he climb it? There was a window, just a little above his extended arm, that he could possibly climb through. The bricks were rough, the plaster in between them cracked and falling out.

Testing with his fingers, he could grip them well enough that he could pull himself up a few centimeters. His worn down sneakers slipped against the red bricks until they caught, and he hesitantly reached another hand up. He extended his thin limbs, short fingers stretching and reaching for the windowsill. They brushed against the extruding bricks, only to fall short. His remaining grip failed and he fell with a crash back down onto the dumpster.

"Hey, I heard something over there!"

Harry was out of time. It was only a matter of moments before they found him. Desperately this time, he tried to scramble up the wall, hoping his momentum might carry him up to where he could grab the windowsill.

His little fingers gripped tightly to the brick as his feet scrambled against the wall, slipping and sliding in a futile effort to find purchase. He glared up at the sky, his eyes watering in frustration as his finger tips grew white at the pressure, his nails cracking from where they scratched against the brick. If only he could get up!

"Hey, here he is!" He heard his cousin call. Harry pinched his eyes closed against reality, his whole body going stiff with fear, his body being squeezed in a tight grip. For a moment he thought his cousin had grabbed hold of him, but it was over in an instance; the sensation of being sucked through a straw and dissolved into nothing. It was almost like he didn't exist for a moment in time, nothing existed, just darkness, and silence and tight, tight, tight…

He collapsed to the ground, as if popping out of a tube. He lay there unmoving, hesitant to open his eyes. Everything was quiet, only the sound of a few birds chirping. The sun showed though the clouds in bright white, forcing its way through his eyelids. His body felt enormously heavy, and no attempt to twitch his muscles would work. He was tired, too; he felt as if he could sleep for days.

No longer able to avoid it, he cracked his eyes open to check if he was in any immediate danger from his cousin. He saw, much to his concern, that he had no idea where he was.

He was laid out on a grey cement floor, with no roof above it, and only a short stub of a wall surrounding the large rectangular space. A few metal bumps that looked like giant faucet knobs were scatted throughout the area, with a tall box standing at the far end, a door built into it.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, his head spun for a moment when he saw how high up he was. He could see everything! He was surrounded by buildings, with a birds eye view of their rooftops… He was on the school roof!

Unable to comprehend how he'd gotten on the school roof, he stared out across the horizon, his mind blank. Over there was the grocers, further along was the park on Magnolia Crescent, and if he squinted, he could make out where Privet Drive might be. With a suddenness that surprised him, the arm supporting his body lost its traction, and Harry found himself once again on his back. Staring up at the sky, he dragged his arm up and over his face, blocking out the blinding white clouds.

Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong.

Harry couldn't even jump at the booming sound, far closer than it had ever been before. The deep piercing bell swelled through the air in announcement that recess was over. A quarter of Harry's thoughts were then trying to figure out how he would get down from here, when he had no idea how he'd gotten here in the first place. The rest of him began to focus on how nice it would be to take a nap right now. The weather was cloudy, but not too cold, no wind to cause a chill, and he was just… so… tired…

His eyes fell shut.

* * *

Harry was roughly shaken awake after what seemed like only a short nap. He still felt the exhaustion in his limbs, like he'd run 10 laps around the school for physical education class. The hand on his should gripped tighter, and a loud voice in his ear forced his eyes open.

"Get up boy! What do you think you're doing up here? No students aloud! Pansy arse little punks skipping classes while sleeping the day away. Can't appreciate what they have. Up I say! Up!"

He was hauled him to his feet and, unprepared for the sudden change in equilibrium, he stumbled as much of the blood that had pooled in the bottom half of his body rushed to his head. A skinny, wrinkled old man stood before him, a thin arm with loose skin hang from the bones gripping his shoulder to steady him.

The first thing Harry noticed was that most of the man's hair was missing from his head, except for a few wispy stands. The second thing his noticed was a terrible smell; a cigarette dangled from wrinkled lips, the old man taking a deep drag as Harry stood before him. He caught a glimpse of half rotted teeth, before a sickening white cloud of smoke blew into his face. He coughed and waved his hand through the air, trying to destroy the stench cloud that had gathered in front of his face.

"Well, boy? What do you think you're doing up here?"

Harry glared at the man, most likely the custodian if the broom and bucket set by the door were anything to go by. Despite having no clue how he'd gotten up here and not having come here purposefully, it was still off limits. All the children knew that. He contemplated what sort of lie might work. He'd obviously fallen asleep, meaning he'd missed class. But in the end, no matter what he said, this man could easily tell a teacher he was up here. He was in trouble either way, so why lie?

"I don't know how I got up here."

"Ahh? What was that? Speak up boy."

"I don't know. I was running from…" He hesitated to lay claim to his cousin, knowing that it would surely make its way back to Uncle Vernon. His uncle wouldn't care that it was the truth or not, only that Harry was slandering his son's name.

"I was running from a bully." How pathetic, he thought to himself. "And I ended up here."

"The door's locked. It can't be opened without a key. So that still don't explain how you go up here."

Harry stayed quiet. He had no key, but the adults wouldn't care about that. They'd simply assume he'd stolen it, and then gotten rid of it somehow, or lost it. The only other explanation for how he got up here was far to unbelievable, even for himself.

"I don't want to hear no lies, boy. I'm still holding the only key for the roof, so I know you didn't take that."

Harry blinked. Well that was one possible lie undone. He looked away, over to the edge of the building that he'd been at the bottom of earlier.

"And a scrawny boy like you can't have scaled a 3 story building, so don't even try it. Hah!" The man gave a chortling laugh, that ended with a hacking cough. He quelled it with a pull from his cigarette, dark white smoke billowing from his nose as he continued to snicker.

Harry looked down at the floor. He didn't want to think about what had happened. Just thinking about it was breaking rule number three. Strange things were always happening around him, and none of them were explainable by logical means.

No one had believed him about the principal's blue hair. Harry had even tried to reason out what had happened, and had come up empty. He felt a sense of risk at saying what he was now thinking, but maybe… Maybe he could say it. This wasn't Uncle Vernon after all.

Good little boys spoke the truth. Whenever he spoke the truth, no one seemed to believe him, but maybe, just this once…

"I was down there," he pointed to the wall, where he'd been looking earlier. "And then I was up here. I just… appeared… up… here…"

His voice trailed off. What was he saying? He could hardly believe that it had happened, and he had been the one to experience it. This man would think him crazy! There was no way he could take this as the truth.

The silence stretch, and Harry flicked his eyes up awkwardly. The cigarette was gone now, a blank look on the mans face. But his eyes were serious, holding Harry's own as he came closer. A strong smell of smoke and bleach filled his nose, but Harry couldn't step away.

"You just… appeared up here, hmm?" Came the soft voice of the old man. "Suddenly, and with no warning… just… pop?" His hands flashed, thin bony fingers squirming in the air to emphasize his words.

"Well…" Harry replied with a shrug. "I tried to climb the wall first, but that didn't work very well, so…"

The old man narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps closer. Harry shifted away at the proximity, but he was too close to the edge.

"What you're sayin' boy, it sounds an awful lot like…" His eyes grew to squints and then Harry had a puff of hot, rancid breath hissing over his face. "…magic."

Harry would have laughed if he weren't trying so hard not to choke.

"There's no such thing as magic," he repeated, forcefully and derisively, dutiful to the words he now parroted from his Uncle.

The old man gave a feral grin, flashing his blackened gums. "Aye, not in these here parts. There's no such thing as magic. Hah!" He finally stepped away.

"How about giving that appearing thing another go? Whether it was magic," the old man snickered, "or not, you say it happened, right?"

Harry felt a bit flummoxed. This conversation was not going the way conversations with adults normally did. The old care taker was supposed to be mad at him for stealing a key and getting on to the roof, reporting him for falling asleep and skipping classes. Instead, he was laughing at him, humoring him.

With a huff, he turned and faced the ridge that circled the roof. Like a straw, he thought, and smoke, and bubbles. It had been such a strange feeling, being nowhere and everywhere at once. He focused on that sensation, thinking long and hard, grinding his teeth and squeezing his hands tightly at his side. A breath burst from his pursed lips, he opened his eyes to find that nothing had changed.

He sighed in frustration and glared at the brick edge, waiting for the man to laugh and call for the teachers. Instead, he was met with a sly grin and missing teeth, when he finally turned around.

"That appearing of yours, try it again sometime." The man approached him and settled both of his on Harry's shoulders. "Grasp that feeling, and don't let go. It is a gift young man, one that you will not want to lose."

Harry looked up from the man's chest and met his eyes. There was a sadness to them that Harry could feel. He didn't understand what this was about a gift, but it seemed, that the man… believed him. He didn't know what to think of that.

"I won't tell anyone where you've been lad, if only in thanks for the interesting story." The man turned away and went to the door that seemed to pop out of the floor. He unlocked it, and held it open. "You'll have to make up an excuse for missing class on your own however."

Harry stepped forwards, hesitant, waiting for some sort of catch, but began down the stairs. Looking back, he could see a glint in the man's eyes, the sad look still there.

"Good luck, boy. You'll need it."

The door closed and Harry was left in the dark stairwell, alone.

* * *

I realize this chapter could have been combined with the last one. I'm trying to post as I get to stopping points so I can post faster. They might get a little longer and more spread out from here on out though.

Harry will still be with the Dursleys for... maybe another 3-4 chapters, although I have one super long scene, the catalyst for change, that might end up taking a few chapters. Then we'll get to the magical world and we'll all be finding out what happens together :D Mr. Janitor will not be a reoccurring character, just fyi.

I hope this chapter didn't seem too fast paced. Normally when I write I add way too much detail, back story, flash backs, and unnecessary explanation(aka this.). My goal with this story is to try not to do that. So please let me know what you think, if it could use a bit more detail, if it's too fast, too much, just right, anything.

Thank-you LGilbert1982, Muuka, and Squirrela for the reviews. *squee* And thank-you everyone for the follows~


	4. First Steps

Uh... Long time no see. It's the first day of National Novel Writing Month, and I am re-writing/picking up where I left off on this story. Maybe I'll post some more chapters soon?

* * *

 _"I won't tell anyone where you've been lad, if only in thanks for the interesting story." The man turned away and went to the door that seemed to pop out of the floor. He unlocked it, and held it open. "You'll have to make up an excuse for missing class on your own however."_

 _Harry stepped forwards, hesitant, waiting for some sort of catch, but began down the stairs. Looking back, he could see a glint in the man's eyes, the sad look still there._

 _"Good luck, boy. You'll need it."_

 _The door closed and Harry was left in the dark stairwell, alone._

* * *

Uncle Vernon had been furious that night.

Some how, despite having told the teachers a little white lie about a stomach ache to excuse his absence from class, his relatives had found out what had really happened. Surely, it was Dudley's faulty.

It had been the worst punishment he had received to date. He could hardly remember past 6 belt lashes and a painful smack across the back of his head that had knocked him out. Uncle Vernon had never punished him with a hit to the head before. He had to have been especially angry, but Harry still felt a bubble of anger simmer inside him at the abuse. The welts had been so painful that Aunt Petunia had even excused him from going to school the remaining two days of the week. Instead, he had been locked in his cupboard, left in boredom to repeat his times tables and latin roots, or let out to dust and clean the house, as he was doing now.

Dragging a rag over the china cabinet, he caught his reflection in a silver plate inside. Underneath one of his bright green eyes sat a deep smudge of blue. That would explain why she had gone to buy the groceries herself this weekend. He sneered at his own reflection, a child too weak to have any defense against unjust punishment.

With a shake of his head, he turned his thoughts back to the janitor. Harry had been thinking about their interaction for the past 3 days. He wasn't an idiot. From the mocking laughter he'd received as a parting gift, he understood that the old man thought magic was real. Why, or rather, how someone could believe so was an important question to consider, but it also brought up a series of thoughts that Harry had only recently been able to connect.

Uncle Vernon's hatred of the word 'magic' seemed to revolve around the odd and inexplicable occurrences that continued to appear in Harry's life. Was his uncle lying? It seemed to be a hidden truth that Harry was on the cusp of discovering.

He knew he had moved from the top of the dumpster to the roof. Dudley had obviously seen it, and believed in it's reality enough to tell his father, who had believed it enough to punish him for it. If it wasn't "magic", it was surely something. Harry wanted to know what.

"Boy!" came the shrill screech of his aunt, the front door opening with a small bang. Harry quickly set down the rag, and rushed to take the groceries from his aunt before he was scolded. Once that was settled, his aunt stood in front of him, her nose upturned as if there were a bad smell in the air.

"Boy, I'll be having a luncheon this afternoon. You are to make yourself scarce. I don't want to see your face until supper time, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry replied seemingly chastened, but inside he was cheering.

What a chance it was! Dudley was at a friend's home for the day, and wouldn't be home until dinner. Uncle Vernon was out with business associates, and now Aunt Petunia was letting him leave the house, leaving him to do what he wanted.

Normally, on such a cold and blustering day, he would take himself to the public library, spending the hours ensconced amongst the free books and publicly funded heaters. Today however, he had different plans.

It was his first chance to practice what he'd done at school, just as the janitor had told him to. He would be able to take full advantage of the park, as no child would be out in such gloomy weather.

He rushed to dress in the warmest clothes he owned, before taking off outside with Aunt Petunia's say-so. He wasn't disappointed, finding the lawns and play set of Magnolia Crescent Park empty, and not a single soul walking the streets otherwise.

On the edge of the lawns, staring across the open space in blank contemplation, he wondered how he should go about doing this. He didn't really know what he'd done in the first place, be it magic or otherwise.

He'd been in such a panic that most of it was a blur, but he did remember running from Dudley, finding a dead end, and trying to climb the wall of the school building. Well, there was no Dudley chasing him today, no dead end, and no wall. Could it be that it would only work if he was running away from something?

"No. I can do it. I did it once, I can do it again. I will." He whispered to himself fiercely.

Looking around the park, the swing set in the far corner caught his eye. It was just as empty as the rest of the park, a rare occurrence that would normally leave Harry racing over to it with joy. Harry smiled. He would use that as his goal. Now all he needed to do was get there.

It hadn't been all that pleasant of a feeling, what had happened that day. He likened it to a straw, as if some giant wind had been sucking him up from the ground, only to spit him back out. It had been tight, as if he'd gotten stuck in one of the tunnels at the playground. When he'd been younger and smaller, he'd been able to slide right through them, unlike Dudley, who had likely never been able to fit all his life. Now, at 9 years old, he was still small and slim, but even he had a bit of trouble with the smaller tunnels.

'Let's try imagining the tunnels then. That might help.'

He planted his feet into the ground and settled his shoulders, bracing himself against the coming sensation. He stared hard at the base of the swings, the image of a maze of cement tunnels filling his head. He wanted to move through them and come out standing there by the swings, to move from where he was currently standing and stand there. His muscles grew stiff as he focused on the spot, staring until dots were floating into his eyes.

Nothing was happening.

He shut his eyes this time, trying to picture the tube he'd gotten stuck in before. He'd successfully escaped from Dudley by hiding inside, but when he'd tried to get out he'd found himself unable to move apart from wiggling. His shoulders had ground against the cement walls, his hands clawing against the stone and his feet bending and pushing behind him, slowly forcing him out of the tunnel.

His memories felt so real that he could feel himself pulling his body out of them. It had worked. He'd moved!

Harry's eyes snapped open to find that he hadn't budged even a centimeter. Air bursting from his mouth, he let out a huff of frustration. This wasn't working. He didn't have Dudley chasing him, there was no sense of desperation to get away. He refused to believe that running was the only way to make it work. He would make it work!

He brought up the memory of appearing on the roof once more. It hadn't been just the squeezing, sucking sensation. There had been a sense of floating into the air as well, like… smoke or wind or… particles of helium or nitrogen, as he'd read in a science book a few months ago.

His body relaxed, shoulders drooping and muscles becoming loose as he thought of floating. But his little hands were closed into tight little fists, pressed against his sides. He held his breath, his face turning red as he tried to force his body to perform this feat of impossibility. But still, nothing changed.

He had held onto the memory for days, just waiting for a chance to try it once more. His uncle's fear of the word magic, the janitor's snide comments, everything pointed to the truth; that he really moved from the ground to the school roof in an instant. It wasn't a lie, it wasn't his imagination, it was real! Harry stamped his foot in irritation, left to stare at the swings from afar.

For once, Harry felt a swelling of disappointment grow within him. He hated how he felt when he was let down by adults, or when he didn't do as well on his school work as he hoped, but this was different. This was something special, a secret that no one was talking about, an idea that would change everything if he could just uncover it.

But nothing had changed yet despite his determination. So for now, he would give up. If it wasn't going to happen, nothing Harry, just poor little freakish Harry, could do to change it.

He would definitely ride those swings though. There was no Dudley to ward him off, no Piers to run up behind him and send him flying. He could enjoy it, even on this blustering, cloudy day. So even if he couldn't make himself appear there 'magically,' even if it all turned out to be his imagination, he was going to enjoy himself today.

With a determined step forward, it was as if a vortex were sucking him in. He was stretched and squeezed in odd places, tight as if he were going to pop, while at the same time it felt like he was dissolving into microscopic particles.

When he opened his eyes, his nose was centimeters away from the metal chain that supported the yellow rectangle at its bottom. He caught his blurry reflection in the scratched metal; a block of black, peach and green. He reached a hand up to his face in a silent stupor, pushing his taped glasses back up his nose.

He had done it. He had actually done it.

He had appeared next to the swings! It was real!

For the first time in 3 years, he dared to whisper it aloud…

"Magic…"

He had done magic! It was real.

Giving an excited puff of air, he closed his eyes and tried again, aiming to return to where he had stood only moments before. It didn't work. His head tilted to the side in a confused manner, as he tried to understand what was different between just now, and a moment before.

He had been frustrated at the fact that nothing was happening, and had decided to go ride the swings anyways. When he had finally… That was it! He'd taken a step! A step towards where he had wanted to go!

He turned his attention back to the empty entrance of the park. There were several patches of yellow grass in the midsts of the still green grass of fall. Focusing solely on one of the spots, wanting to stand there, wanting this to really be real, he lifted his foot and took a step forwards, and was promptly sucked through the tube. Only this time, as he was expecting it, the squeezing pressure didn't feel so tight. It felt again like his body was being broken down into a million tiny pieces, dissolving into the air before being sucked in like a vacuum. He stumbled as he caught his landing, realizing there was a sense of falling as he appeared, the circle of yellow grassing rushing up to meet his feet.

A bubble of laughter built up in his chest and spilled from his lips It worked! He stood again, and with a bit more confidence took another step towards the swings. The sense of dissolving came back a little more strongly, he slipped out of the tube to find himself standing on the swing seat.

Unable to keep his balance, he fell to his bum on the damp wood chips that filled the swing's pit. His laughter continued. It was a wonderful feeling, this happiness, this magic. He could feel something thrumming through his body, warming him despite the chill, filling him with energy and excitement.

He continued to skip about the park, stepping in and out of different locations only to reappear there seconds later, moving forward with more and more confidence each time. He noticed a small cracking sound echoed in the park, small enough that it would easily have been mistaken for the crunching of a twig or the rustling of dry leaves. It only made him happier, the echo reinforcing the fact that what he was doing was real.

Harry felt as if his heart was bursting with joy. Never had he felt such unrestrained happiness in his entire memory. He felt light, and free, as if there weren't a thing wrong in the world. He buried himself in the feeling, wrapped it around him, protected by the fact that there was no one watching, no one there to take away his joy.

After the 10th time he 'stepped', as he had begun calling his little bit of magic, he felt himself suddenly grow tired. However, there were still several hours left until Aunt Petunia would allow him back in the house. Deciding he would take a short rest, he climbed into the jungle gym, a small collection of pipes, platforms and tubes that imitated a castle. Only expecting to sit for a short while, he found himself unable to keep his eyelids open.

He woke several hours later, chilled. His body was only slightly protected from the wind and the now pouring rain by the turret tower atop the slide. Harry sat and watched the rain come down, shivering in his thin coat. If he ran home now in the rain, getting soaked in the process, Aunt Petunia would be furious with him for tracking dirty rainwater into her home and over her clean carpets. If he sat here and waited for a possible break in the rain, not only would he would freeze more than he already was, but it could be extremely late by the time he would get a chance. His aunt would be doubly furious in such an instance and he would most likely end up without supper.

As he contemplated his choices, a third, brilliant choice came to mind. He could 'step' there! Uncle Vernon wasn't likely to be home yet, and surely his aunt would be expecting him soon anyways. He would have to avoid the neighbor's eyes, but they weren't likely to be peeking out when the weather gave them nothing to see.

The back garden would be perfect, between the shed and the tree. Then he could run around to the front and come in, meaning he would only get a little wet, meaning he would be able to slip into the house, shower, and change without incurring his aunt's wrath.

Harry stood with excitement at the idea, before a problem appeared. Could he even step that far? Much less to a place he couldn't see?

He'd only been stepping around the park, where everything was visible. The roof at school hadn't really been in a position where he could see it, but it also hadn't been as far as the Dursley's home currently was.

Given the circumstances, he didn't really have a choice. He didn't feel like being punished again so soon. He was also feeling quite hungry, so going without dinner was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

So he decided he would risk it. The only thing that could really go wrong was it not working for some reason. He could handle running home in the rain if it were his last choice.

But Harry had no more doubts. Not after this afternoon. He could do it. He could do magic now.

Eyes closed, he imagined the space between the shed and the tre, how there would be fallen yellow leaves he'd need to rake soon, and the ring of rocks that circled the base of the tree. He would be pressed right up next to the fence when he stood there.

With the image so clear in his mind, he knew he could do this. Standing up in the little play tower, he fumbled with the wall to bring himself up, eyes still closed to keep the memory in his mind. Slowly, he brought his foot up into the air, and with deliberate care, he set it down in front of him, taking one step forward.

It felt like he was flying.

Down he broke into a thousand little pieces, sucked into the air and through the canopy of the tower. He was rushing through the air, thousands of little Harrys convalescing into a shadow that moved too quickly through the air for anyone to spot. It was a brilliant feeling. It filled him with a sense of completeness and in that moment he felt the irony of being whole.

Then he was crashing down to the ground, unable to keep his balance with the speed at which he was falling. He fell to his knees, his body pitching forward, his head banging again the rocks that circled the tree.

He lay there dazed, the small amount of rain that made it through falling on his stomach, while his cheek pressed into the moist dirt. His head hurt. Pushing himself up, he brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothes before looking at the house. There were a few lights on upstairs, signaling that Dudley was home. The living room was still dark, meaning Uncle Vernon was not.

He dashed around the side of the house, cheering at his luck. He'd made it! No one the wiser! There would be no punishment for him that night, and he would get to eat dinner. Opening the front door, he bang checking himself. He had gotten wetter than he expected after his fall, but not so much that his aunt would refuse to let him in.

Just as he was slipping his shoes off and on to the rack by the door, Aunt Petunia poked her head into the hall.

"Don't you get any mud on the carpet boy. They're freshly cleaned and I'll not have you mucking them up!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied quietly. "May I take a shower before supper?"

"5 minutes, and then you'll wait in your room until you're called."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry shuffled past her, before rushing to the bathroom.

5 minutes meant she would be knocking on the door telling him to get out in 3. He was stripped and in the water before it had even grown hot. Only when he was finally enclosed in his cupboard and alone, shivering as he changed into dry clothes, did he celebrate his accomplishment.

Magic was real. He had gone from the park, all the way to Privet Drive in an instant. There was nothing Uncle Vernon could ever say would change that reality. Nothing anyone said would change it. Harry lay on his cot until dinner, a smile on his face. His uncle was a bald faced liar, and although terrifying in his punishments, he was exactly the same sort of person as he constantly accused Harry of being. He fell asleep, resting until said Uncle called him for dinner, which he ate heartily. He even at the vegetables Dudley threw at him, unaffected by his cousin's attempts to irritate him.

Harry was as happy as he'd ever been.

* * *

I was contemplating throwing in a scene where Harry splinched himself and was missing a chunk of his hair, and that would be when Petunia shaved his head, but I decided that would be too horrible after such a happy day for Harry. I do have the scene written though, if anyone wants to read it.

A bit more pain left to come for Harry. Gotta make it bad enough for him to run away... .

I'll do my best to update a bit more as I write. I wrote everything by hand last year for NaNoWriMo so it was hard to post, but this year, I'm trying typing, so maybe I'll just post as I go... Maybe.

Thank-you for all the reviews, follows and favorites over the past year!


	5. Of Money and Memory

Be forewarned, this is completely unedited! There is a possibility I will come back and change little details as I continue writing, but for now, I'm mostly happy with how everything came out.

Enjoy~

* * *

It was now November, and one month had passed since Harry had discovered his ability to step from one place to another. He had fully embraced his 'freakishness' and attempted to do other tricks, such as turning someone's hair a different color.

The incident with his principal probably had been Harry's fault, he realized now, although it hadn't been a purposeful action. Nothing much had come of his attempts, but he had remained cheerful and content, holding the secret of his magic close to his heart as a barrier against his relatives disdain.

His aunt and uncle had tried to hide this from him. Somehow they knew about Harry's ability to do these things.

It frustrated him so much.

That his aunt could call him a liar, while lying to his face.

That his uncle could punish him for actions that the man had never told him he could do.

That they had hidden something so important, so amazing from him, just because they wanted to remain in their perfectly normal bubble.

They could call him a freak all they wanted. He no longer minded. If using something like magic made him a freak, then he would accept it whole-heartedly. But since his relatives were unable to accept something so abnormal, he would do his best to hide it from them. It would be his little secret.

But those thoughts still didn't prevent him from trying to change his cousins hair color on their walk to school that day.

Dudley waddled and grunted as he walked, the image of an over-sized caveman. Piers was a skinny broom standing next to him, although neither were as small and boney as Harry was. They chattered amicably, excited, for once, to be heading to school.

He glared at them, walking several paces behind. Unlike his cousin, school was not something he was looking forward to that day. Today was a dreaded field trip.

He wouldn't be able to spend any time in the library today, and would likely be going hungry, as his aunt had conveniently forgotten to pack him a proper carry lunch. He'd gotten a water bottle, an apple, and a package of crackers as an afterthought, while his cousin had two paper bags full of sandwiches and crisps.

The bank they would be visiting, however, was a small interest to look forward to. They had been studying money maths in class recently, and today, they would get to visit the Bank of London, in order to "gain some real world experience with money," as their teachers had explained.

Their arrival at school was quickly met with chaos. Children ran about the school playground, waiting for the school buses to arrive, while teachers tried to organize them into groups.

Harry's class was the first to begin boarding. Of course no one wanted to sit next to Harry for fear of being targeted by spit wads and paper balls, so he ended up getting to sit in the front seat next to the teacher. It had the dual benefit of avoiding Dudley's usual torment and being able to watch the city scenery fly by as they drove to downtown London.

He had only been through London a few times, never enough to recognize anything but the big clock tower they went past. It was fun to watch the myriad of people fly past as if he were watching the tellie, a colorful array of clothing and hair. He entertained himself by imagining what they were doing as they went about their day.

When they finally reached the bank, Harry had to tilt his head back as far as his neck could bend in order to see where the enormous stone pillars held up the roof of the bank. The stairs to the bank and the surrounding streets were covered with people, from men in business suits, to housewives hauling young children along. Dozens of people pushed their way through the revolving doors of this enormous bank.

Harry was both fascinated and amused as a couple walked past the lined up students, wearing what could only be pajamas, bathrobes and slippers. He had never seen such oddly dressed people before, and decided that London must be far more accepting of oddities than Privet Drive was.

Roughly 60 or so students were herded up the stairs, the teachers already frazzled as they tried to keep them from running every which way. They were quickly escorted up a set of stairs just inside the door giving Harry only a glimpse of the large hall with long white walls. At the top of the stairs, he was surprised to find a corridor wrapping around a large opening in the floor, giving him a view down into the bank.

A counter topped with a tall window stretched from wall to wall in the middle of the room. There were several people seated behind the glass, passing money and slips of paper back and forth with customers. Further behind them were desks and computers, with more staff working away, running about like mice in a maze.

Harry wanted to see more, but everyone had been led into a large meeting hall. He got to sit in a large fluffy chair that faced towards a projector and screen set up on the side of the room. As the lights went out, all the children ooh'd or squealed in surprise as the projector flickered on.

A slide show about the inner workings of the bank began, holding most of the children's interest for about 5 minutes before they were either sleeping or giggling with their friends. Harry watched and enjoyed and learned.

When the lights came back on, he felt he understood even more about the importance of money. Even his 9 year old mind had been able to process most of what had been said. Everything that happened in the world was tied to money, and everyday decisions were affected by how the banks dealt with the precious commodity, from food and housing prices to interactions between countries.

They got to enjoy their lunches then, and Harry ate his quickly before getting up to explore. He claimed use of the bathroom, and while he did eventually use it, he took the long way back, looping around the corridor that circled the bank lobby below.

It was amazing, the fact that everyone kept their money in the same place. From the little old lady hobbling her way to the counter, to the rich business man he saw walk in through the front door and was immediately treated like a king, their money was mixed together. Everyone had money and every one used it, but just from watching the comings and goings of the bank, Harry could tell that the more one had, the better they were treated and the more they could do.

He vowed to himself that he would try to be one of those people. He would pay back the Dursleys for their care of him, and maybe they would come to like him. It was a pipe dream, both the money and the Dursleys, but for all that he didn't trust them, he still had a small hope that there was something he could do to join their family. It was hard to go it alone every day.

When he finally made it back to the meeting room, the large group of students was being split into smaller groups. Harry heard his name called, and went to the front of the room where his teacher was waiting.

"Before we head down to the vault, I'd like to go over a few rules with you all," said a kind looking lady wearing the bank's uniform who was standing before them.

"First of all, I'd like to ask you to please be quiet as there will be customers in the vault doing business. If you could please do your best not to bother them, I would greatly appreciate it." She smiled at them before growing more serious.

"Secondly, I would like to request that you please do not touch anything. While we are down in the vault, we will all be getting the chance to see and touch real gold," she paused at their excited twitters.

"But only within the special display that will be set up for you to play with. So, unless we say it's alright, please refrain from touching anything.

"Does everyone understand?" Harry nodded along with his classmates. "Alright then, let's go!"

The small group of 10 students and a teacher were led back down the stairs and behind the counters where transactions were taking place. They took another set of stairs that led even further down, ending in a small hallway.

At the end of the hall was an enormous hole in the wall, laid bare by the even larger metal vault door. The door sat open on its hinges, giving a view of the fence gates that stopped them from passing through the wall. When Harry stood close enough to the door, his eyes grew wide as he realized exactly how big the door really was. It was thicker than two children standing shoulder to shoulder, and at least twice his height! Imposing metal bars pointed out from the center of the door, reaching just to the edges of circle like the rays of a sun.

"This is our vault door. It's open during the day time so visitors can enter and exit, but at night time we close it, and these cylinders push out into the holes here in the entrance, stopping it from opening."

Their guide was standing just inside the open gate pointing to the ring of holes that followed the curve of where the door would sit when closed.

"From here on, I ask you please be quiet and courteous to any customers who might be inside. The first half of the vault is where are safety deposit boxes are, and people will not want to be disrupted." She gave them all another smile.

Passing through the fence, they stepped into a room that was filled wall to wall and ceiling to floor with black boxes. There were squares and rectangles of all different sizes, and each one had a little white dial attached to it. In the center of the room were several tables, each with a divider on 3 sides to prevent anyone from looking at what might be inside. The room was empty, meaning there would be no customers for them to bother.

Another slightly smaller vault door sat amongst the boxes on the wall, which a security guard went over to and began unlocking. The lady turned to them once more an asked, "Can any of you guess what is inside this vault?"

Most of his classmates, including Harry, called out "Gold!" but there were a few dissenters that claimed that "Treasure!" "Jewels!" and "Puppies!" might possibly be inside. Harry rolled his eyes and his classmates idiocy.

"Yes, gold! This is where some of the British gold reserves are kept, along with several containers of currency that are too large to be kept in the smaller vault upstairs."

There was a click as the guard finished unlocking the door, a small thud as he turned the crank, and with an ominous slowness, the door creaked open. What followed reflected a deep, sparkling yellow into everyone's eyes.

"Woah…"

All of the children gasped at the sight. Never before had any of them seen so much gold, much less all in one place. Rows upon rows spread out before them, golden bars stacked upon golden bars all the way from the floor to the ceiling, held up by scaffolding shelves and locked behind cages. The low lighting played up the shine, giving just enough sparkle to emphasis the color.

They were ushered inside, and immediately, Dudley was rushing over to a shelf, his pudgy hand reaching out to try touch one of the bars through the cage. He was quickly secured by the guard, both of his meaty wrists wrapped up in the man's thick hands.

"Please don't touch the cages." Came a menacing and unpleasant voice that left Dudley to eep and struggle to get away.

"This way children," called the attendant, who was already leading them through the racks.

Harry and the rest of the children moved to follow to where the lady now stood at a table, a handful of sparkling items laid out under a light. Dudley shook off the guards hands and forced his way past everyone, his should shoving roughly against Harry as he went by. He immediately scooped up a small gold bar and brought it close to his face to examine. Several other children followed his lead, reaching out for bars and other small chips of gold as well.

Harry hesitantly touched one of the coins, surprised by the feel of it. It was far heavier in his hand than it had seemed like it would be, especially when compared to the coins he usually had to deal with when grocery shopping. Although, it was only slight smaller than the palm of his hand, which gave it some of it's weight, and while mostly round, it had a few rough edges to it.

On one side of the coin, there was an image of what might be considered a lizard… or maybe it was a dragon? Harry couldn't really tell due to the damage, but it at least looked like it had wings. He knew dragons had been a popular emblem for flags, so it was a good possibility. The flip side was even less recognizable due to damage, but there was a shape like a nose so he assumed it had once had a face printed on it.

The only thing he could really make out were a few letters around the edge of the coin, spelling out the word G-R-I-N. Harry thought it was an odd word to be on a coin, but it made for a very unique coin, and an interesting item to look at. Not only that but it felt soft to the touch, for all that he was unable to bend it. The longer he held it in his hands, the warmer it felt, until it was almost thrumming in his hands.

Another hand shot out and snatched it from his, and the warm tingling sensation vanished almost immediately.

"Give it here freak, you're too poor to be touching something like gold."

Dudley might have been stupid, but he could certainly get to Harry where it hurt.

"Why's this one got a lizard on it?" Dudley's voice whined to the clerk, interrupting her discussion with one of the other children.

"Oh, that coin was given to us by a collector. It's a very unique coin, but unfortunately I don't know much about it or why it had the markings it does. It is made from gold, but since no one has been able to determine which country or even what century it came from, I don't think it's worth much more than it's weight."

Dudley threw the coin down, already bored with it before the lady had even finished speaking. Harry slowly went to pick it back up again as his cousin focused on something else. But before he could do much more than hold it, their tour guide was clapping her hands together, drawing all of their attention.

"Alright children, there are several more groups waiting to come in, so why don't we wrap this up and head out, shall we?"

There was a unanimous round of groans and whines, Harry's included, but everyone reluctantly pulled themselves away from the table and followed their teacher and guide back to the safety deposit room.

They were met with a small surprise, as the previously empty room was now occupied. A man in a fine suit stood next to an open box, talking to another clerk as he pulled a container from the wall. Harry's eyes widened as he recognized the man as the 'king' he had seen early on his way back from the bathroom.

The man had a tall stature, with long blond hair reaching just past his ears, and a large smile. His suit was a deep purple, and his shoes were polished to a high shine. He looked every bit as powerful and rich as he likely was. He was the sort of man whom Uncle Vernon aspired to be; someone with authority and wealth, who could be called perfectly normal. Harry felt a bit star-stuck at the sight, as sharp blue eyes turned towards them, meeting his own for a few brief electric moments.

"Mr. Lockhart! Welcome! I didn't realize you would be visiting us today!" Their guide had rushed over to the man, her voice turned light and airy while a dusty blush spread across her face.

The man's powerful presence seemed to leave the room in a hush, the previously rowdy children quieting to watch things play out.

"Ms. Claire, what a pleasure." Mr. Lockhart took their tour guides hand and brought it to his lips. "What do we have here? Are children now investing in the gold market?"

The two clerks gave a laugh at the comment, though most of the children couldn't understand what was so funny. Their laughter sounded hearty, but Harry could tell it was a bit forced.

"We have a school tour from Surrey here today. We've taken them through the vault and were just on our way. Please excuse us for the intrusion."

"Not at all, Ms. Claire, what a wonderful experience for them." The man's focus shifted to Harry and his classmates. "And no need to rush, I'm feeling generous today. Would you children like to see what's stored in these boxes? How about I give you a peak, hmm?"

Harry was happily surprised and joined in with calling out an affirmative. Despite the man's intimidating presence, he was quite kind, willing to show them his treasures. He smiled down at them, a very charming smile, and Harry felt himself smiling back.

All the children crowded as close as they could get to the adults, as Mr. Lockhart removed a long grey case from the wall and held it amongst their group.

"I have the pleasure of renting three different boxes in this bank. Mostly I keep important documents and papers stored in them, along with a few heirlooms. This box however," he paused for a moment to unhook the lid and slide it open, "holds a far more lucrative collection."

Their sight was filled with sparkles of light, a rainbow of colors thrown across the room under the bright overhead light. Rings, bracelets, and other jewelry, precious stones both big and small, a multitude of treasures sat in the tray, each with its own individually cut slot of white velvet. There was a long pearl necklace draped down one side, a pair of tiny diamond bracelets that would only fit a child's wrist, and a ring with an enormous ruby set into it like a drop of blood.

In the corner nearest to where he stood sat a beautiful emerald the size of Harry's thumb. It drew him in closer and seemed to call to him. He couldn't put his finger on why it was so interesting until he realized that it was the same shade as his eyes. It was difficult to resist the urge to reach out and touch it, but Harry knew that it would be foolish to touch something so precious when he hadn't been given permission.

He was amazed that this man was even showing them all this. Forcibly pulling his attention away from the brightly colored jewel, he took a moment to gaze up at this 'Mr. Lockhart'. Were there really such kind people in the world? Why would someone risk something so precious to them, just to entertain a few grubby children who might decided to pocket something?

The more he watched the man, the more he felt a tingling sense of unease creep into the back of his mind. Harry had been hypnotized by the man at first, with his good looks and alluring smile, but something was off. He was odd somehow, different in a way that was somewhat removed from the perfect normal richness that had seemed his relatives' ideal. When he could no longer stand the feeling that was running up his spine as he stared, he instead glanced over at his classmates, all of them oohing and ahhing over the jewels. All of them, except for one.

No.

It couldn't be.

There was no way Dudley would…

But he would, Harry knew. They stood with only a body between them, but Dudley was further back then the rest. That was Harry's first clue, as normally he would be elbowing his way to the front to have the best view. His cousin's hands were tucked into his pockets and he was fidgeting as if he needed to go to the bathroom.

It was too big of a deal to be a coincidence. A quick glance back at the tray and Harry felt the blood drain from his face. The emerald that had been so enthralling was no longer seated where it once had been. And here was his cousin was showing such obvious signs of guilt, that it was amazing no one had noticed yet.

Harry felt his heart begin to race. For once, he would be able to tell on Dudley. For all the times his cousin had lied and gotten him in trouble, now, he had a real incident that would be so far reaching, even his aunt and uncle would have to recognize that their perfect Duddikins was not so perfect after all.

Dudley looked up at him and caught his eye. In that moment, the truth of what was about to happened passed between the two cousins. Harry knew what he had done, and Dudley knew that Harry had figured it out. As Harry opened his mouth and took in a breath to call for the teacher, Dudley began moving toward him.

"He has it, he has it, he has it!" screamed his cousin, and Harry found him crashing to the ground.

The full weight of his cousin left him no room to defend himself and his head cracked against the marble floors. In the chaos that followed, it was difficult for Harry to process what was happening, apart from loud noise and a mass panic of movement.

"Mr. Dursley! Mr. Potter! What on earth do you think you're doing?" Their teacher cried, rushing over to pull Dudley off of him.

Dudley began spluttering and raving towards the teacher before another voice called out.

"Imobulus! Obliviate!"

Silence flooded the room as everyone froze where they were, dazed looks on their faces. It was eerie, the suddenness of it all. There was not a single movement, not a sound compared to the rancor from just seconds earlier. It was as if time had suddenly stood still.

Everyone, that was, except…

"Filthy muggle children, I knew one of them would try to touch it."

There was Mr. Lockhart, bending over to pick up the tray that must have fallen in the scuffle. The previously charming smile had been wiped clean. In it's stead was a curled lip and as he stood straight again, a look of disgust that swept over the frozen members of Harry's party before they came to settle on him. Blue eyes grew wide with surprise

"Wha…?"

It only took a moment before Harry was making a break for the entrance. He didn't know what was happening, but he was able to trust his gut enough to know that he needed to get out of there, now. This man was dangerous in a way that Harry could not put in to words, and he didn't not want to get caught up in it.

"Incarcerous!" came a shout from behind him, and Harry found himself falling to the ground, a rope wrapped tightly about his legs, locking them together, his arms held to his side. Something slid up and around his neck, slipping into his mouth and wrapping about his head, gagging him. He struggled against the bonds, trying to squirm free and inch his way towards the exit. His breath was frantic around the bit in his mouth and he felt his mind beginning to panic as footsteps drew nearer.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here," came a sly deep voice, all sorts of dangerous warning bells set off in Harry's mind by the tone. "As I have never met a muggle who is resistant to such spells, I must have something else on my hands. A mudblood child perhaps?"

One of those highly polished shoes stretched out and pressed against his stomach, flipping him over on his stomach. Blue eyes like shattered glass stared down at him in disdainful curiosity, and Harry felt himself glaring in reply. The panic from earlier cleared and all he could feel was anger and humiliation, and a dose of confusion at the abundance of unrecognizable words.

"I see… You are the one who took my jewel and started this whole mess."

Harry shook his head vehemently, still glaring up in gagged silence.

"No? You think I would believe a dirty little child like yourself?"

"Ih aah mur mmhmm," Harry tried to speak through the cloth, but all that came out was a garbled incoherent sound. He tried to force the cloth in his mouth out of the way with his tongue but it wouldn't budge. He instead switched his glance between his cousins frozen body and the man still staring down at him.

Mr. Lockhart followed his line of sight before giving a disgusted sigh.

"Accio emerald," he called, and twirled a stick in his hand that Harry hadn't noticed before.

A flash of green light came zooming away from his cousin's pocket and into the man's hand. It was the stolen emerald.

Something clicked inside Harry's mind. The word 'spells' had been used earlier, the sudden quiet and stillness, the ropes and gag that that had come out of nowhere, and now a flying jewel?

A thousand questions popped into his head. Could there really be other people like him? Freaks who could do strange and unnatural things? Could he, Harry, making things fly about like this man had just done? What was the stick in the man's hand. Could it be a wand, like in magical stories about witches and wizards? Was that what he was? A wizard?

The stick was suddenly pointed at him, and Harry felt himself freeze. What other things could this man do? Surely if magic were real, the possibilities were endless, and that meant that causing pain was just as plausible as jumping about from place to place. The tip swirled in a circle, and Harry felt the cloth from his mouth melt away into nothingness. Immediately he spoke.

"My cousin took the emerald, not me. He was trying to blame it on me to get me in trouble."

Mr. Lockhart stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he sighed, a look of irritation and exasperation on his face.

"I know I am going to regret this," he seemed to mumble to himself. "What's your name boy? Are you a half-blood or just a mudblood who I can send on his merry way?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, looking down in confusion. There were those words again, 'half-blood' and 'mudblood'. Did his blood have something to do with his ability to perform magic? The tone with which the word 'mudblood' was said didn't leave any hopes of it being a good thing. Harry wondered what it would mean if he were to fall into that category.

More importantly, should he be telling this obviously dangerous man his name? Why was he asking? What would happen if he told? However, there wasn't really a choice, he realized, as there were a multitude of ways that he could find out. He decided to risk it.

"My name is Harry. Harry Potter."

The silence stretched to an unbearable length, and when Harry looked up, it was into a slack jawed face of Mr. Lockhart, bright blue eyes blown wide with shock.

"Harry… Potter…" the man whispered, as if he were unable to process what he had just heard. "How… No… it can't be…"

The man's face tightened suddenly, and he was crouched down and in Harry's face before he could even begin to try to escape. A hand reached for his head and Harry flinched away violently, but unable to avoid the fingers the brushed his bangs away from his forehead. Soft fingers traced across the lightening scar, a small buzz of static electricity running through his head at the touch.

Harry shuddered at the uncomfortable feeling, and leaned as far away as he could. He had no idea what was happening.

"By Merlin… You really are… the Harry Potter."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Harry asked, irritated at the continuous closeness. "Yes, that is my name."

Just as quickly as he'd been approached, Mr. Lockhart backed away again. The ropes vanished and Harry felt his body go slack at the sudden lack of resistance. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, pressing himself against the wall of deposit boxes, ready to dash for the exit once more if need be.

"Just what is the boy who lived, of all people, doing amongst a group of muggle school children?"

"The.. what? Muggle?" Harry grew even more confused. Was this man insane?

"Muggle…? You… You don't know?" Mr. Lockhart sputtered. "He doesn't know. He doesn't…"

It was only a moment before a huff of laughter jumped from his lips as a smile grew to replace the surprised look.

"Tell me boy," Harry flinched. "Do you know who Albus Dumbledore is?"

Harry quirked his eyebrow and shook his head. What an odd name.

"And what about the name Voldemort?"

Again, Harry shook his head no.

Mr. Lockhart's hand came up to cover to cover his mouth, Harry only catching a glimpse of the corner of a smirk appearing between his fingers as the man began talking to himself. "The Boy Who Lived doesn't know. Hah… Hahaha, good Merlin what the Prophet wouldn't pay to know this. Harry Potter, living ignorant amongst muggles."

As the man continued to snicker, Harry decided that yes, this man was certifiably insane, spouting on with words like prophet and muggles. If anything, that made him even more dangerous, considering the possibility of magic and all. But somehow, this stranger knew who he was, recognized his name.

"Potter… No, Harry." The charming smile from earlier was back, only this time, Harry could still see the sly fox that hid behind the mask. "You said your cousin was the one who took my emerald. As I did in fact retrieve it from his pocket, I will take your word as the truth."

Harry nodded in acknowledgment of the comment, but remained silent. It was the truth, and that was that.

"However… You said he was trying to blame you for it? Why would he do something like that to his own family?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. That was an odd question. He wondered where this was leading.

"He hates me, he always does things like this. I'm used to it," he stated bluntly, watching as the man's eyebrow rose in consideration.

"He hates you… Why is that?"

Harry did not want to go into that line of thought again. He had asked himself many times why the Dursleys disliked him so much, and every time, it came back to his abnormality, his inability to fit in, his… freakishness.

"Monkey see, monkey do," and that was all he would say on the matter.

"Oh? What an odd muggle expression," the man's voice lilted on that word again. "Well, if you can't be forthright, I guess we will have to look for answers elsewhere."

Harry's back stiffened but it was no use running. Mr. Lockhart had already swooped in front of him and clasped his hand firmly around Harry's jaw, tilting his head upwards. Harry glared into the man's eyes, ready to defend himself when a white piercing pain stabbed through the back of his head.

 _Privet Drive stood there, in all it's boring glory, with it's perfect garden, perfect fence, and a look that matched all the houses around it. Stepping inside he could see the door to the kitchen down the hall and on the left, the living room on the right, and the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Underneath it was the cupboard under the stairs, or as Harry knew it, his bedroom._

 _He was at school, on the playground, running. While other children were enjoying themselves as they ran about playing tag, Harry was trying to escape from his cousin and lackeys. He was pushing his little legs as fast as they would carry them, only to be tripped up, pinned down, and roughed up._

 _Aunt Petunia stared down at him in disgust, a little plastic wrapper in her hands. "You little thief! "_

 _The washing room was small and cramped, set up in an unfinished basement room that was still mostly rough flooring and cement walls. Uncle Vernon towered over him. His face was purple, ready to explode in anger, and in his hand was a belt._

 _"There's no such thing as magic!" his uncle growled, before drawing his arm back and bringing it down towards him._

Harry struggled to escape, not wanting to experience the pain of another belt on his back. His head was already exploding in pain, and he just wanted it to stop. He hadn't done anything wrong this time. It really had been Dudley who'd tried to steal the emerald. He let out a sob.

"There, there child. It's alright, it's alright."

A hand stroked across the top of his head, brushing away the sweat that had broken out there. It felt cool, as if water were washing through his mind and chasing away the throbbing pain that had flooded it so suddenly.

He peeked his eyes open. No longer was Uncle Vernon standing before him. The hand that stroked his hair was connected to an arm dressed in purple, which in turn lead him to once more meet the eyes of Mr. Lockhart. Harry shuddered, not feeling comforted any longer, as the reality of where he was came back to him.

"Now, now, young Harry, there is no need to worry. I will put everything right." The hand continued to stroke his head, down to the back of his neck, but Harry refused to look back up into the other man's eyes.

"It's as simple as this. I will erase everyone's memories, and we can go on pretending that all of this never happened. Your cousin will forget that he ever took my emerald, and your teacher and classmates will never know what took place. All will be well. Alright, up you go, there's a good boy."

Harry could just barely understand what the man was saying, as he was propped to his feet. Erase their memories? Was that possible? If everyone forgot what had happened, then there was no chance of it making its way back to Uncle Vernon. If it really were possible…

"But, before I do that," Harry found himself forcefully face to face with the blonde haired, blue eyed menace that had just thrown his world topsy turvy. "If I am to help you with this, I will require a small payment in the form of a promise."

"Can you… Can you really erase their memories?" Harry murmured, still hesitant to believe, but hopeful.

"Yes, yes, I can. Indeed, it is my specialty." The man's stick was in his hand once more. It was an odd stick, shiny as if polished, and carved with a handle at one end. Maybe it really was a wand.

"The promise I want you to make me is this. Eventually, you will come to join our world, away from all these, muggles." The man gestured to his classmates. "When that happens, I will come, and I will find you, and I will ask one favor of you. Just one tiny favor, and no one will ever know what happened here, or what happened with your… family."

"Your… world?" Harry whispered, his head still spinning. "A… favor."

"Yes, the magical world. I am from a world much higher up than these simpletons as a wizard of the highest degree, just as you are. My name is Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin third class, and 4 time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. But more than that," Harry felt his hand taken in Mr. Lockhart's own, held up between them. "In exchange for erasing the memories of everyone in this room with the exception of you and I, you will do me one favor of my asking once you have reintegrated with the magical world. Do you agree?"

Harry was so confused. There was too much happening all at once, too much to take in properly. But if this man could really erase their memories, he would have no worries about the fall out from his Uncle learning about what happened. Because no matter what had happened, he knew it would end up being 'his fault'.

His hand was hot and sweaty, and it was uncomfortably tight in Mr. Lockhart's grip. He wanted the other man to let go already. He wanted this to all just be done so he could stop thinking. Never had he thought he would want to do so, but all he wanted right now was to go back to his cupboard and fall asleep, in the cool darkness that would help stop his head from pounding and his body from shaking. If he wanted this finished, all it would take was one little favor

"I agree."

Something happened after that, but once Lockhart released him, all he could do was slump back down against the wall, exhausted. He saw the purple covered back and wavy blonde hair closing in on his classmates, and he couldn't bring himself to care. As long as he could avoid his Uncle's belt, he would do anything.

"You have all just finished viewing the jewels from my security deposit box," Mr. Lockhart's voice filled the room. "The students were amazed by them, but now it is time for the children and their teacher to leave. Finite Incantatem."

It was as if the clock had started moving again. His teacher began clapping her hands, calling for the attention of the students, as the guards went back to their positions and the bank staff stood beside their respective customers.

"Alright, children, come along, it's time to return to the classroom. Can you all say thank-you to Mr. Lockhart for sharing the contents of his deposit box with us?"

While his class was saying their greetings, his teacher noticed him sitting against the wall with his knees up.

"Mr. Potter, are you all right?" she asked in a worried tone, as she came over to him.

So it was true. Magic really could erase memories. If Harry had been in a better state of mind, he would have felt far more amazement and curiosity at learning that there was more to magic than just the little tricks he could do, but for now all he could feel was relief.

"I'm not feeling so well." He told his teacher in reply.

He glanced at Mr. Lockhart, to see the man peeking at him.

'If you're ever in the neighborhood, Charing Cross Road is a wonderful place to visit. Don't go forgetting our promise now. I will come to collect on it.'

The words seemed to float across his mind, resounding inside. His headache seemed to grow into a pounding wave, and he clutched at his forehead. His teacher led him from the room, and Harry was left unable to properly comprehend everything that had just happened.

It wasn't until he was staring blankly out the bus window, trying his best not to vomit due to pain and the rocking of the bus that something in his mind clicked. There was a street sign on the side of a building that signaled the name of the road they were driving by. Charing Cross Road.

He turned his head following the road as the street slipped past. The sign grew smaller and smaller, and with it, his sense of dread grew as the realization of what he had done came to him.

What had he just promised?

* * *

Yay, Harry gets his first brush with the magical world! One or two more chapters, and that's where he'll be~

Yes, that was the Lockhart. He will not play a pivotal role (or at least, not anytime soon) but he will be popping up again.

Next chapter is almost finished. I'm two days behind on NaNo, but I'm catching up this weekend~


	6. Lock and Key and Open Door

First, let me say, thank-you so much for all the reviews! I so appreciate them! So thank-you to Jojobandit, geetac, Outofthisworldgal, and Jojocaffinerun. And special mention jh831, you are right on the money with the Jumper comment. I've never actually seen that movie, but when I first started plotting this story, I had someone tell me the same thing. A complete coincidence, but one that works~

Anyways, next chapter. I don't normally post this fast, but NaNoWriMo is half finished! So I thought I would post what I have to celebrate~ I wrote it in three fairly distinct parts, but they were too small for individual chapters so... yea. Also, everything is still unedited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes, overuse of certain words, and possible future plot holes.

Finally, one warning. Child abuse, although not too descriptive. Excessive use of a belt, and insults.

You've been forewarned. Enjoy.

* * *

For the next few days, Dudley acted very strange.

Harry didn't know if whatever memory erasing spell that had affected his cousin had addled his brains a bit or not, but that was really the only explanation for what was wrong with the other boy. He'd taken to staring at Harry, giggling behind his hand intermittently, and when Harry bothered to look towards him, Dudley would offer him a malicious smirk. Aside from mild insanity, there was the possibility that his cousin was planning some sort of sordid prank that would be aimed at Harry, so he had begun to be extra cautions in his movements.

He made sure to leave the house before Dudley was even finished with his breakfast, and he stayed in the library after school until his cousin was sure to have given up waiting for Harry to come out. He also sat at the front of the library, where he was clearly visible to the librarian in order to avoid any sneak attacks during their breaks.

But nothing happened.

After a week, the malicious smirks had turned to scowls and glares. Still Harry could not understand what was happening with his cousin. He assumed it was simply because Harry had thwarted his plans somehow. His aunt and uncle hadn't seemed to notice anything was wrong so he decided to leave it alone.

Instead, he had thought more about Mr. Lockhart, the mysterious wizard he had met at the bank on his school field trip, and their promise. Harry still couldn't decide whether it had been the best decision or not to make the agreement that he had. Having his cousin accuse him of theft had been enough to scare him with thoughts of repercussions from his uncle, and had led to the impossible reality of having his teacher's and classmates' memories erased. In exchange, he had given the promise of an _undetermined_ favor.

Harry had no way of knowing what Mr. Lockhart would ask of him, and know way of knowing if he would even be able to accomplish the task! Would it be harmful to himself or others? Would he be required to steal something, or become a slave to the other man, or simply help him perform some kind of spell in return?

That didn't even touch on the topic that there might be a whole other _WORLD_ out there filled with witches and wizards and magic! The man had mentioned it so casually, as if Harry should have already known about it, and then had laughed at him when he had had no clue.

When Harry had mentioned his name, the other man had reacted in such a way that it told Harry he had recognized it. Could that mean that… his parent's had also been able to perform magic like his did? Was it in his blood? So many things had been mentioned that Harry didn't understand, that he had taken to researching them in the library.

Words like muggle and mudblood had turned up no results in either the paper version of a dictionary nor a computer generated one. Everything that mentioned wizards, witches, wands or magic was either fictional or in reference to slight of hand tricks by stage magicians who pulled rabbit out of hats or escaped from locked cages.

In the entirety of Harry's life, there had never been anything that he had come across that couldn't be explained by a book or a reference of some sort. He was befuddled. The only thing that had brought about any results was that of Charing Cross Road, a location in London that he had been able to find on a map. It had been relatively close to the bank he had visited on the field trip, but he hadn't been able to find much more about it, much less why Mr. Lockhart would have mentioned it to him.

After spending another fruitless afternoon in the library, he was walking home in a fit. An empty pop can that had appeared in front of him sailed through the air as he kicked it in frustration. It landed with a plunk several meters away, and suddenly something clicked. The janitor! The janitor he had met on the roof had obviously understood what had happened to him. He _had_ to know something about this 'magical world,' didn't he?

Harry turned around and raced back towards his school, not wanting to wait even another day if it meant he might be able to get answers now. When he arrived, the secretary at the front desk was still there and he headed in her direction when another person appeared in the lobby.

It was an older man, with salt and pepper black hair, thick square glasses and a thin frame. He was pulling a bucket behind him, a mop in his hand. He dipped it into whatever liquid was inside the bucket, and began washing the tile floor in sweeping motions.

He was not the janitor Harry had met.

Slowly and awkwardly, Harry approached the front desk.

"Can I help you dear?" the lady asked him kindly, glancing up from her typing.

"Um… I was wondering… where is the other janitor?" Harry asked, his voice growing quiet so as not to attract the attention of the man across the hall.

"The other janitor?" The clerk looked down at him, perplexed. "There is no other janitor dearie, all we have is Mr. Johnson." She motioned to the other man who was moping away.

"But… I met another janitor… just last month." Harry stated, hesitant but adamant in his stance, knowing that the other man hadn't been a dream.

"Last month? Oh!" She gave a laugh of surprise. "That must have been when Mr. Johnson was out sick! We had to call in a temporary janitor to take over. Was there something you needed from him?" She smiled at him, but her eyes flickered back to her computer.

Harry felt another sense of disappointment build inside of him. It would be impossibly to contact the other man, much less ask him anything. There was no way the clerk would just give him the janitor's phone number, and it would be impossible for Harry to call him anyways. Another dead end.

"No, thank-you miss." Harry sighed and turned away. The clacking of computer keys and swishing of the mop followed him back outside.

On the walk back, he decided there wasn't much more that he could do. Everything he'd researched had led to a dead end, except for Charing Cross Road. That was his last hope for answers. He wanted, no, needed to know if there were others like him. He wanted to learn more about who he was, what his name had to do with a title like "the chosen one", what he could do with this impossible power he called magic.

He had no idea how he would get there. It wasn't like his uncle would be willing to drive him. The risk of stepping such a far distance was enough of a deterrent that he didn't immediately move to use that line of thought.

He had discovered a downside to his stepping while running late for school. Deciding that he would step from Privet Drive to his school, he arrived to find a good chunk of his hair missing. Aunt Petunia had shaved his head bald when she found out, apart from a small chunk at the forehead to cover his scar. Luckily for him, it had all grown back over night at the unbearable thought of having to go to school with such an embarrassing hairstyle.

So instead of stepping all the way to London, which was over a 30 minute drive by car away, he would hold off and consider his resources more carefully before acting.

Finally returning home, his aunt barked at him for being late, ordering his help in the kitchen for dinner. When they all sat down to eat, Dudley began squirming in his seat, fidgeting with his food rather than shoveling it down his throat like he normally would. He glanced at his mother, shook his head, and turned towards his father.

"Da, do you remember the field trip I went on last week? The one to the bank?"

His father gave a grunt as chewed, swallowed, and then said, "Yes, yes, to the Bank of England. Lovely building, fine architecture and even finer service!"

That was news to Harry, who hadn't realized his uncle was even capable of utilizing the same bank as a wizard like Mr. Lockhart. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his Uncle's face if he were to meet such an upstanding looking man only to find out he was a freak like his nephew.

"Well, have you heard anything about it from our teacher? About what happened to Harry?"

At the sound of his name, Harry froze. He slowly looked up from his plate to stare at his cousin, uncomprehending of what the other boy might be getting at.

"What?" Uncle Vernon responded, abruptly sitting up in his seat, his bushy eyebrows furrowed as he gave Harry the stink eye. Aunt Petunia also sat up straighter, her fork slowly lowering to the table.

Turning back to his son, his uncle asked "I have not heard anything from the school, Dudley. Did something happen that I should have been contacted about?"

Harry wanted to know the answer to that question just as much as his uncle seemed to. He stared at his cousin, who turned to meet his eyes and _leered_ at him.

"I think Harry should tell us. Why did the teacher take you out of the room before the rest of us _Harry_? Did something _happen_?"

Harry felt a flood of relief run through him. Was that all? Did Dudley think he'd done something bad to deserve the teacher's attention, to be lead out into the hallway ahead of the rest of the students?

"I had a headache and wasn't feeling well. The teacher helped me back to the room. That's all."

There was a moment of silence. Dudley's face tinged pink as the staring contest between the two cousins continued. With a growl, the other boy stood.

 _ **"Liar!"**_

Dudley's sudden scream, followed by the slamming his fists on the table and startled everyone in the room. The cutlery clattered with the force of his blow. "I know exactly what you did, and I want to know why no one is punishing you for it!"

"Dudley Diddums, calm down," his aunt asked in a whiny pleading voice as she leaned over to touch her sons arm. "What did he _do_?"

Dudley pulled in a full breath of air, bringing himself to the tallest height he could reach before exploding.

"He stole a jewel from one of the boxes at the bank!"

Everyone reacted to the statement simultaneously. His aunt gave a scandalized gasp, his uncle's face began to turn purple, and Harry sat there in shock.

What?

How?

That was not what had happened, but that was besides the point. Not only did his cousin remember what had happened at the bank, but he obviously remembered enough that he had been able to take the first step in twisting the reality to his liking. He would have his parents wrapped about his little digit. What had happened to his memory being erased?

Had the magic failed?

Or… had Mr. Lockhart _lied_ to him?

"I don't know how he did it, but he got everyone to forget about it! None of the teachers scolded him, no one tried to stop him, and the old man he stole it from didn't even realize he had done it!"

"I didn't steal anything!" Harry shouted with conviction, his voice not belaying the panic that was slowly building inside of him.

He stared his cousin down until the boy sat back down, not used to seeing Harry in any state of defiance.

"If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who pocketed that emerald, and it's only thanks to _me_ that it was **_returned_** and no one found out about it!"

Dudley looked a bit worried now, if the look on his face was anything to go by, but a solid thump made the both of them jump. Uncle Vernon's fist was as white as the table cloth, in stark contrast to his face, which was the deepest shade of purple Harry had ever seen it.

It was horrifying, and Harry felt the first shiver of very real fear go through him. This was not an Uncle Vernon he had seen before, and he had no idea what was about to come. But the look told him something important. He already knew that there was nothing that would change his uncle's mind.

He would believe his son first over Harry any day. There was no one else in the world apart from Mr. Lockhart who would be able to provide any proof to Harry's version of the story.

There was no way to get that proof.

"Now Dudley, I know you would never lie to me," Uncle Vernon's voice started soft but gruff as he looked towards his son. "But I want you to look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said."

Dudley glanced first at Harry, before flicking to his mother's pale face. He turned and met his father's eyes. Something hardened in his face as he spoke. "He stole it da. I watched him take it right out from under the old man's nose."

His uncle let out a ferocious breath through his nose that sounded like the gale of a thunderstorm.

"Petunia, Dudley, leave."

"But, dad…"

"But, Vernon…"

"LEAVE," his uncle shouted.

All Harry could do was stand where he was, stiff as a board and pale as a ghost as his aunt and cousin left the room. Their plates were still half full of food. When the room was empty, and Petunia and Dudley had obviously gone upstairs, Uncle Vernon spoke.

"How dare you boy." The fierce whisper of his uncle had his breath stopping in his chest.

"How dare YOU BRING SUCH AN EMBARRASSMENT UPON THIS FAMILY!"

His uncle roared at him, standing to his full height over the table. Harry's knees were no longer able to support him as adrenaline began to flood his system. He slid to floor, shuddering.

"Is it not enough that you came into our lives and destroyed them, but now you are trying to destroy the lives of others? You eat the food from our plates, wear the clothes off Dudley's back, sleep in our home, protected from the world and all its evils, and this is how you repay us? It ought to be gratefulness, ah?"

His uncle was just in front of him now, and a big meaty hand reached down to grab him by the arm. He was hauled to his feet, the grip so tight that his arm grew numb as he was dragged from the dining room and into the haul. Harry's mind had fallen into a full blown panic at the thought of what was to come, but he didn't struggle. It would only make his uncle angrier.

"You're a thieving little freak, you are, born from worthless freak parents. We tried our best to raise you proper, but blood begets blood and you will end up just as worthless as your parents, living off the charity of others."

Harry could feel sharp burning tears blur his eyes as his uncle threw painful slurs at him. He did not want to show this man his tears. He'd heard on more than one occasion his uncle telling Dudley that real men don't cry, but as this situation had progressed so quickly, and everything was coming in sharp reality to him now, there was little he could do to hold them back. The betrayal, the anger, the sadness, the unfairness that was his world was all coming together in a whirlwind of misfortune.

He had never lied to his aunt and uncle, never stolen from them or touched anything that wasn't his. He always did his best in school, never cheated, always kept his promises. He was quiet when they asked for it, unseen when they wanted it, never complained to them nor asked for anything.

And this… this was what he received for all of that.

They would never believe anything he said, they would never trust him to be a good child. They always assumed he was up to something, that he was a good for nothing, that he was a freak.

They would never love him.

More than the fear, it was this thought that affected him the most.

The first tear fell burning the skin of his cheek like acid. The second fell and then the flow couldn't stop, as one by one they broke from his eyes. His uncle finally took notice of them, and tugged him forward fiercely, forcing Harry to follow him and descend the stairs to the basement.

"Feeling guilty, you little brat? It's too late for your regrets now. I've had enough of your little tricks and God knows what else you've done. Now stealing another man's property and trying to hide the evidence? I'll not have any more of it under this roof! This has to stop… this, this freakishness."

"You mean my _magic_?"

It was a snide comment, made in a sudden fit of angry retaliation against his uncle, and one he knew before it even came out of his mouth that he shouldn't have said it. But it felt so good to say it out loud.

To admit to himself, truly, that he accepted his 'freakishness' whole heartedly. It helped with the realization that there was no love for him from these people, no sense of caring or affection. They had been lying to him all this time, trying to change who he was, to 'beat it out' of him.

The realization of it all, and the acceptance that followed shortly after gave him a shield against his uncles verbal assault. He was different from them. And that was fine. He didn't need their love, their idea of family and life. He would be just fine on his own. He was strong.

But even his new found strength could waver as his uncle's hand wrapped tightly around his jaw, forcing him up against the basement wall. Bulging eyes and a pulsing forehead made a terrifying demonic caricature of Uncle Vernon's face as spittle flew into his face.

"There _is. No. Such. Thing. As Magic!_ "

* * *

Harry awoke to a splash of cold water.

Bright lights and pain were there to greet him as the spray caught the lines of whiplash that streaked across his back. The scream that tore from his mouth was feral.

A hand quickly slapped across his mouth and brought the scream to a muffled whimper.

"Hush, you stupid brat, we don't need you bothering the neighbors."

His eyes watered with salty tears that ran down his face, blending with the pouring water which fled down and into the basin around him. It swirled around a hole before descending, a light pink tinge to it.

He was in the bathroom.

The water began to grow warm against his skin before his aunt shifted his head. He shuddered and let out a loan moan, bringing his own hand up to muffle his mouth in reflex. Each little drop of water that made its way down his back _stung_ like a thousand knives slicing into him.

He tried to remember what had happened, why he would be here in the bathroom with his aunt while in so much pain.

Dinner. Dudley. The bank. His uncle.

The belt.

His uncle had been furious. Harry had taken 3 belts across his clothed buttocks before the man had asked where he had hidden the stone. When he replied he hadn't taken it, Harry had been struck again.

Again and again, his uncle had questioned him about how he taken the stone, how he tricked the owner of the stone, how he had made his teachers forget. Each time Harry replied with a negative, another belt would strike across his back.

When he could bear no more, apologies had fallen from his lips, giving his uncle what he wanted. Adults only ever wanted to hear what they wanted to hear, and would sometimes accept nothing less than their own narrative fed back to them. Usually it would get them to leave him alone. But it had only spurred Uncle Vernon further, an admittance of guilt a sign of a need for more punishment.

Harry had fallen unconscious, apologies and meaningless murmurs still falling from his lips in hopes of stopping the pain.

Nothing could have prepared him for the burn that came from soap on open wounds. His back stiffened, sore muscle tightening reflexively as he tried to escape his aunt's movements from behind him. It felt as if he were on fire, every inch of his back covered in flames.

His whimper turned to a squeal, and it was only the hand over his mouth that kept him from crying out any louder.

"I said quiet, boy! This needs to be done. I won't have you getting an infection."

He felt dizzy, and was only just able to keep his body from tipping to the side. Instead, he curled over his bent knees, exposing even more of his back, but giving him something to hold onto as he bore the washcloth.

When it was finally finished, the warm water washing away the last of the suds, the pain dulled somewhat. Harry felt his breathe leave him in an exhausted burst. He hadn't realized he had been holding it. His aunt tugged him to his feet, and black spots spun in front of his eyes at the abrupt change.

"Dry yourself, and get changed. I'll be back in a moment, and then you will go straight to your room so don't dilly dally."

'She says that as if I could actually move normally in this state', he thought, trying to hold himself upright against the wall.

The door closed, and he was left alone to deal with… with whatever happened now.

He pulled off his soaked underwear carefully, his bottom smarting as the scratchy cloth rubbed against it, although it couldn't compare to his back. He went to grab a towel, stopping only moments before wrapping it around himself. Aunt Petunia would be furious if he dirtied her white towel, and who knew if there was still blood there. Instead he dried his limbs and body carefully, before turning to look at his back in the mirror.

When he caught his reflection, he felt the urge to vomit. Red welts covered his back from shoulders to hips. Only a few were bleeding, split skin leaving circles of bloody tissue, but the lines were well defined and swollen, covering virtually every centimeter.

Hot, white rage over took him.

The fury was so sudden and powerful that the image of his back faded from his sight for a moment as everything turned black.

He didn't deserve this. He hadn't earned any of this. If anything, Dudley should be the one in his current position, experience the pain of his father's belt.

 _He hated them._

He _hated_ Vernon. He _hated_ Petunia. He _hated_ Dudley.

Shivers ran through his limbs, shuddering and shaking them, not from the cold but from adrenaline flooding his system. The need to destroy something, anything, to break it and tear it piece from piece, to somehow transfer this pain from his body to a more suitable receptacle overwhelmed him.

Because it was not _he_ who was due this punishment. He had done _nothing_.

 _He did not deserve this._

The click of the door shattered his thoughts. His aunt appeared in the door way. In her hand was the medical kit, something she had never pulled out for him before. He stared her down, watching her meet his eyes and see the fury there. It stopped her in her tracks.

Her own eyes grew wide and terrified, and in that moment, Harry felt powerful. He could hurt her. Just as she and her husband had hurt him. He could do worse, surely. Surely there was some form of magic he could produce that would cause this spiteful ugly woman the same amount of pain she and her kin had cause him for his entire life.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stopped. This was not who he was. He was not a monster. This was exactly how his uncle had felt when standing over him, huffing and puffing as he raised his belt to strike him once more. Harry did not want that. He did not want to be his uncle. He refused.

He opened his eyes again, no longer glaring, but letting them show his weariness as his shoulders slumped in mild defeat. What was happening to him was not normal. Harry knew that now. If living in this house was to protect him from the 'evils' of the world, then what exactly could be worse than what he was experiencing right now?

These people were no longer his family. No matter that this woman before him was his mother's sister, he wanted nothing to do with them. They obviously thought the same.

His aunt was still staring at him warily, her face pulled taught stress. He felt the urge to laugh bitterly. She knew what Vernon had done was wrong. Otherwise she wouldn't have taken such care with him, much less be expecting retaliation. But she would stand by her husband. She hated the freak just as much, if not more so than her husband did, despite him being her sister's child.

He no longer wanted to look at her face, which was so unlike his own. He turned away from her and sat with his back in her direction on the toilet seat, clutching his unworn pajama shirt in his lap.

He sat there as he listened to the medical box click open, his aunt hesitantly spread some sort of cream across his back. He flinched whenever a particularly tender spot was pressed a little too hard, but kept still for the rest. When she was finished, his entire back was covered with several sheets of gauze and medical tape.

Harry felt exhaustion over take him. He wanted to disappear, to fall into nothingness, to escape this mess. There was no one here for him, nothing left for him, so why did he exist? What was the point?

Obediently, he followed his aunt from the bath, willingly letting her lock him into the tiny hole that was his closet. As she closed the latch, she informed him he would not be receiving the rest of his supper, before hurrying away to the living room, where he could hear his cousin and uncle watching the evening comedy show on the tellie.

How they could accuse him of taking the food from their mouths, when they offered him so little in the first place? When they wasted what little food they did offer him. How could they accuse him of all the things they said when he had done nothing in the first place to earn their ill will?

He sat on his cot, still clutching his shirt, but hesitant to put it on. Every time he shifted, his back would ache, the bandage rubbing against open cuts. The freezing cold of late November spurred him on. He bit his lip through the pain of raising his arms and stretching the skin of his back in order to slip the shirt over his head. Sliding it down his torso, he turned himself to lay on his stomach, head tilted towards the small crack of light that peaked through the slots at the top of his door.

He felt tears building in his eyes again at the sound of three laughing voices in the living room. How easily they could forget about him. He glowered into the darkness and refused to allow any drops to fall. He would not cry anymore, he would not let them win. He would not let them make him feel like this anymore.

He would leave.

He didn't know when he would do it, or what he would do after he left, but he could stay here no longer. He thought of his magic, how happy it had made things seem only days earlier. He could only step, moving from place to place, but he had seen other things happen. He knew there were other possibilities. In fact, there was a whole other world out there, according to Mr. Lockhart.

Rage burst through his thoughts, returning just as suddenly as it had come in the bathroom. _That man_. That man was one more person he could blame for all of this. He had promised to erase all of their memories, and it seemed to have worked, except for on _the one person_ whom Harry had needed it to work on the most.

Lockhart had commented on his uncle, somehow knowing about it, and assuring him the man would never find out. How could he have known about the way his uncle treated him? Harry hadn't said anything, just a mention of his cousin. Although… he did remember having felt like he was back in his uncle's presence while still at the bank. In fact, that memory had happened at the onset of his headache.

In fact, several memories had popped up out of nowhere before his headache had begun. What had caused him to remember them in the first place? Lockhart had asked him about his cousin, yes, and the man had grabbed him when he'd refused to answer. Harry had glared at him… and then the headache had come.

But… well… if he could erase people's memories… could he…? The thought was terrifying. Could Lockhart have seen his memories? Read his _mind?_

It seemed the only explanation. There was no reason for why he should have remembered such specific events at such an odd moment in time. He'd been left disoriented, unable to think properly after the fact.

Harry felt revolted. Such an invasion of privacy, one that he had never known was possible. Not only could magic erase memories, but it could allow others into his mind and letting them see his most embarrassing, painful moments, that no one had the right to see.

He couldn't trust this Lockhart character anymore. While he didn't know if the man had necessarily lied to him or not, he had taken advantage of him. He hadn't upheld his side of the bargain. There was no way Harry would keep his promise now either. There would be no favor from him.

If anything, the man owed Harry. Owed him for the pain and suffering he had experienced due to his **mistake**.

But first, he would need to leave, to become independent of these peoples unwilling and disregarding of his care. He might only be able to step, but he would catch up. He would find other things he could do, use them, take advantage of them to build himself up into a stronger and self-sufficient person. Harry would depend on no one any longer.

They would regret what they had done to him. Both his relatives and Lockhart. Harry would get his revenge. He didn't know how, but he would. And then he would leave, be gone of this place forever. If he started planning now, then it could happen sooner rather than later.

All it would take was a step away.

Then he would be free.

* * *

Not only was his back burning in pain, but so was his entire body. Flames ran across his skin, licking up and down his spine before dancing about his head. Freezing, biting icicles seemed to hold his body down to the cot, preventing him from moving. Sometimes it would feel like a frozen sledgehammer had slammed against his head, before it would warm up and return to flames.

That was the reality that Harry had lived through for the past week, although he really didn't know if that was how long it had been. He hadn't been attending school, and had simply lay in his cupboard for hours, falling in and out of fevered consciousness.

He recognized Petunia, the woman who was no longer his aunt, now, where as he hadn't before. She would force him to lay on his back so that she could place an ice cold wash cloth on his forehead. Harry was left there, the cold painful against his fevered skin, his injured back holding his full weight. Eventually she would come back, long after the washcloth had grown warm and Harry had rolled over on the side to get off his back, only to repeat the process.

He had no idea where his fever had come from, only that his back, and everything else, was still in so much pain. Belt marks had never taken this long to heal before. He took it that Vernon, the man who was no longer his uncle, had done more damage than ever before.

He had eaten very little that he remembered, some bread buns here, a glass of lukewarm chicken stock there. Hunger didn't much affect him at the moment, but there was always a small sensation there in the back of his mind, of never having enough in his stomach.

Just moments earlier, Petunia had brought him a slice of bread with cheese on it, and a glass of water. He assumed it was dinner, as he could smell roast chicken wafting through the air as she opened the cupboard door. He nibbled slowly on the bread, unable to bring himself to gobble it down when he knew he would be getting nothing else until the next morning.

His mind was still feverish, but he could recognize the sounds of clinking cutlery, and was able to hear their dinner time discussion. Petunia was complaining about having to take care of him, and Vernon was grunting in sympathetic matter to her plight. He eventually suggested they go to 'Aunt Marge's' for the day, to give her a bit of a break.

Harry fell asleep, encouraged by the knowledge that he would at least be getting food tomorrow. If they were going out for an entire day, he would be staying with Mrs. Figg, the old cat lady down the street.

He awoke in the morning to the sound of Dudley pounding his way down the stairs. Harry stirred himself, sitting up woozily. Getting himself ready, he began reaching under his cot to pull out clothes. He heard two more sets of footsteps on the stairs and began to hurry, knowing they would allow him no more time to get dressed than the basics.

A click, a small thud, and another click and the house fell silent. The sound of an engine revved, and then faded away slowly.

5 minutes passed, and then 10, with Harry staring in a daze at his cupboard door, waiting for it to open. It didn't. More time passed, and it took a while for the reality of the situation to push it's way past his fever muddled mind.

Had they _really_ just left him here?

He reached out a tentative hand and pushed on the door. It didn't budge. He pushed a few more times. The lock rattled, but still didn't open. Still no sounds came from anywhere in the house, no laughing Dudley, no cooking Petunia, and no Vernon shouting about him trying to get out.

They really had just left him here.

Shock filled him as he tried to think through what had happened. They had left for the day. It was likely Sunday, if the mention of roast dinner meant what it normally did. They had gone to Marge's. And, they had left him locked in here. No food, no water, no toilet.

Was this really just a case of out of sight, out of mind? He didn't think so.

And he wasn't going to stay to find out. This was the final straw, and also the perfect chance for him to leave. It was sudden, and he knew he hadn't planned anything out yet. He still wasn't feeling all that well, but he never had the house to himself. For all that he was isolated away from that family, there was always someone nearby. He was alone now though, and all he had to do now was get out of the cupboard.

It was not something he had ever attempted to do before, not knowing but understanding that the punishment from such an infraction would be far worse than anything he had experienced up until this point.

Leaning up against the door, he peaked through the open grate at the top. Through the slats he could see into the dimly lit hallway, the porch lamp the only source of light coming through the windows near the door. It was still early, and winter kept it dark outside.

Glancing down as far as the slates would allow, he could catch a glimpse of the sliding lock that held the door closed. If he could somehow open that latch, he would have free reign of the house. Food would be his main goal before he thought through what he would do next.

First though was the lock. He slammed his hand against the door loudly, knowing there was no one to punish him for making noise. The metal clasp jiggled but stayed in its slot, the knob pointing down and preventing it from sliding over with the vibrations.

Harry glared at it before falling back on his cot. Stupid little metal thing. A sense of deja vu seemed to come over him then, reminiscent of that day in the park where he had given up on trying to step. It gave him pause.

Could he somehow 'magic' it open? Most of his magic seemed to occur when he was either angry, scared, or very determined. He was very angry right now, and very determined to leave.

Summoning all of his feelings together, his disbelief and outrage at his ex-relatives treatment of him, his hunger and the motivation of food, and the need to leave this toxic environment, a surge of energy seemed to rush through him. He pushed himself forward once more, pressing against the wooden door and angling his head to get the best possible view of the lock. He thought long and hard about unlocking the door, imagining the lock twisting and sliding and clicking open. Several moments passed with nothing happening at all, but Harry's will only grew stronger.

He raised and fist and hit the door, pounding against it once in his frustration. The door continued to vibrate, even after the initial shock of his hand had died down, shuddering against his palms. With renewed vigor, he stared down at the lock, building the image of it twisting and sliding towards him, remembering the times he had unlocked it with his own hand. It quivered visibly, and Harry began chanting to himself, the words slipping through his lips breathless and unintended.

"Turn, turn, turn."

The chant continued and Harry was amazed to watch the little knob slowly rising up, as if being lifted by a ghostly finger.

"Turn, turn, open, please, open."

As the knob reached its apex, the words changed. His fists tightening in a grip, nails scratching at the door as they curled.

"Open, open, _open_."

He squeezed his eyes tightly, begging for the lock to be opening, and not a figment of his tired imagination. They popped them back open when he heard the snap of metal.

Abruptly, Harry found himself falling forward, the wooden door he had been leaning on swing open to crash as it turned 180 degrees. He was unceremoniously dumped into the hallway, unable to catch the floor propely with his hands. His face was pressed against white carpet, his feet still up on his cot, and his back in unimaginable pain as it was bent at and odd angle.

The muscles of his body reacted before he could process what was happening, and he found himself curled in a ball, hissing through the pain of stretching damaged skin. He lay there until his breathing calmed. Then he smiled. He was out of the cupboard.

He was free.

* * *

Harry found himself in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cupboards before cooking himself a full English breakfast; rashers and hash, eggs, toast and jam, and a large glass of orange juice. He ate only a portion of what he had made, unable to stomach much more as he still felt dizzy trying to walk around after laying in bed for so long.

When he was finished, he went up the stairs to Dudley's room. Digging through the boy's wardrobe, he found the smallest and warmest clothes he could find, layering himself in preparation for leaving. He had glanced out the window and was surprised to see snow had fallen since the last time he had left his cupboard.

The sheer silence of the house and and surrounding neighborhood was both unsettling and calming. It was nice to know that there was no staring at him for the moment, no one paying attention to him or to what he was doing.

Grabbing one of Dudley's bags, he emptied it, and added a few more sets of cloths. Back in the kitchen, he began pulling out boxes of crackers and crisps, a few apples and a bottle of water. When it was as full as he could get it, he zipped it closed, and stopped himself just moments before swinging it on to his back. Instead, he slowly eased it over his shoulders. It burned, but it was bearable.

Harry stood in front of the door, not yet opened. It was a daunting sight, holding back his final steps to leaving this place. Was he really going to do this?

Yes. He was.

But first he would get his revenge. He ran through each room, he threw open the curtains and cracked the windows that he could reach the locks on just a bit, giving anyone who was looking a perfect view inside. He went to the thermostat in the hallway, and turned it on full blast. He had heard, on more than a few occasions, Vernon complaining about the cost of heating the house.

Next he began turning on the faucets, in the bathroom, in the kitchen. From the fridge, he pulled out a block of cheese. He couldn't take it with him, but he could use it for another purpose. Petunia never cleaned under the sofa, she would always make Harry do it. It was always disgusting, with rotting crumbs and chocolate from where Dudley had dropped it. He shoved it under the flap, as deep in as he could reach it. That would be a lovely surprise for that woman when she finally worked up the courage to clean her Diddum's mess.

Feeling a bit more content, he unlocked the door and stepped out. Purposefully, he stuck one of the umbrellas from the holder between the door and the frame, preventing the door from closing completely. He doubt anyone would come by and rob the place, but there was always a chance. And the Dursley's would deserve it.

He walked to the end of the driveway and turned about, staring at #4 Privet Drive. The sun has just started peaking over the horizon, painting everything it could touch through the clouds a bright orange. A few birds chirped as the world began waking up.

Harry felt a sense of calm over come him. He was finally leaving this place. Never would he have to set foot in this house, or even on this street again. Feeling a little naughty as the blood rushed to his head, he flipped the birdie at the house, saluted, and turned his back on it.

He headed down the road for Magnolia Crescent, and whatever future might await him.

* * *

Aaaaand, he's off! Finally away from the Dursleys. We won't be seeing any of them anymore. With a bit of pranking under his belt already.

I've hit 25k for NaNoWriMo (only a day behind now). Once I hit either 30k or 35k, I'll post the next chapter~

Thank-you for all the favorites and follows and reviews! They keep me going~


	7. Banking on Nothing

Let me just say, Harry is still sick with a fever, so I threw logic out the window for most of this chapter. So some things might not make rational sense to a normal person. Just a forewarning.

* * *

Harry sat on the swings at Magnolia Crescent Park.

He hadn't gotten very far from Privet Drive before the cold December air had cleared some of his mind and reality had begun to set in. His grubby sneakers budged against the wood chips, pushing him backwards a few centimeters before momentum took him forward.

He had only the food in his pack to fill his stomach and the clothes on his back to keep him warm in the surrounding snow. He had no place to go, no where to sleep, no where to even use the restroom or take a shower, apart from public toilets.

Most importantly, he had no money.

When he ate all the food in his bag, he would have no means to buy more. If his clothes tore or got destroyed or dirty somehow, he had no way of washing them, much less buying new ones.

His head still ached, but the cool air and falling snow drops were comforting as the blew across his forehead. He didn't know what to do about that either. He'd taken his backpack off, unable to stand the pressure any longer, having built up from mild burning to constant shocks of pain with each step. He ached to pull the itchy bandage off, unchanged from the day it had gone on.

His anger at the Dursleys still swirled in his fever dazed mind, and the pain of his back added the memory of Lockhart to the mix as well. They were the reason he had been put in this impossible state. Vernon and Petunia were the ones who should have been paying to take care of him.

He contemplated returning to the house in order to search it for some money he could take. If they were going to call him a thief and punish him as one when they had no basis, he might as well earn the punishment. However, that would mean returning to Privet Drive, something he was not keen to do after he had left it so nicely. There were sure to be neighbors watching at this point as well.

Lockhart also owed him. Big time. After promising to erase their memories, his actions had been the ones that had lead to all this. So how could he go about taking payment for that?

Emerald green light reflected in his mind, the beautiful jewel that he had barely been able to withstand the temptation of touching. It tantalized his feverish thoughts, taunting him. He began to realize that it was perfect. It was exactly what he should take as payment. The emerald was what had really started all this. Yes, that was what he would do. He would take the emerald, maybe sell it and use the money to carry him along. Then he would consider Lockhart to have kept his end of the deal.

He stood with purpose knowing what his first action would be. All he had to do was go to the bank. He grabbed his bag, and set off. The sucking sensation that followed was abrupt.

Pieces of himself seemed to be flying everywhere, sucked into a hose at random intervals. Everything was jagged and sideways and whirling, and he was dizzy, upside down, hazy and dumbstruck. Blurred images spun around him, twirling by before he could even make sense of their colors. His legs buckled and he fell to the ground, crashing so hard that he _bounced_ before landing, his bag sprawling away from him.

Even as his body came to a standstill, his brain and stomach were still swirling. When his senses started to return, both his nose and eyes were met with the blurry image of the breakfast he had eaten only an hour earlier, half digested and dank as it spread across white marble.

Pushing him up slowly, he wiped his mouth, a bitter and acidic taste still on his tongue. Staring around at the dimly lit room, he was greeted by the vague outline of several desks and chairs. Tapping his hands, he found his glasses which had flown askew, and put them on. What had previously been walls of darkness turned into an abundance of individual black squares covering the walls, familiar little white dials stuck to each one.

Harry blinked once. He blinked twice. Had he really just… stepped? All the way to the bank? It had taken so little effort! He smiled to himself. He must be getting better at his magic than he thought.

The room was so dim, it was hard to tell where everything was. It was so different from when he had come to visit last time. He wished there was some way to turn the lights on, maybe a light switch, or a pull cord…

A small white light shined over his shoulder, scaring him into ducking down underneath a table. Was someone else in here? It hadn't occurred to him that there would be other people here, although he hadn't been planning on just appearing inside in the first place anyways. The white light flashed again, following him. He turned to face it, heart pounding and mind racing through images of where he could try to escape to if he were about to be arrested by the police. A glowing orb hovered in front of him, like a fluff of dandelion floating in the wind, radiant even without the light of the sun. What on earth?

He reached out to touch it and his fingers passed through it, touching nothing. And just like that it was gone, and the room fell into darkness once more. Where had it gone? Harry shook his head, wondering if he had been imagining things. He crawled out from under the table, once more intent on finding the light switch, when the light suddenly appeared again, growing out from the finger that had passed through it only moments before.

Startled, he tried to take his hand away from the sudden light, but it only followed, as if attached to his finger. He shook his hand, trying to get it away from him and off it flew, floating away from his finger to hover half a meter away. Harry stared at it confused. Where had it come from, what was it doing and what the bloody heck was it? It occurred to him that the room was no longer dim, lit up by this tiny little bit of fluff. He had been looking for the light switch when it had appeared. Was it possible he had created it?

He thought about the dark room from earlier, and suddenly he was plunged into darkness, even the dim light from earlier disappearing into nothingness. It spooked him enough that he immediately began wishing for the light to come back, and back it came, pouring from his hand in an even larger ball of light that illuminated the room as if it were mid-day.

It was odd, Harry thought, that he had been unable to do anything with his magic apart from stepping before now, and suddenly, he was moving without effort, unlocking doors and lighting up rooms. Grinning even wider that he had been before he felt a sense of accomplishment and justification grow inside of him. Earlier he had been worried about what would happen to him, but his magic was growing by the minute. Surely there was nothing he couldn't do with magic at his fingertips. He would be absolutely fine. All he needed now was that emerald.

Turning to the wall of safety deposit boxes, he realized he had no clue which box belonged Lockhart. The vault door was over there, and the gold reserves were over here, so that meant it was one of the boxes just across from the desk in front of him. Walking over he brushed his fingers over a few of the thin rectangular shapes, remembering that the door that had been opened had been at about his chest height.

His fingers grew warm as they slid over one door in particular. The room wasn't particularity cold, and neither were the boxes, but it was enough to stand out to Harry. Could this be the one? Spinning the dial, he contemplated how to open it. Would the same magic from this morning unlock a dial, rather than just a sliding bolt?

Hands settled on it, he began to bring up his focus, preparing to unlock the door. It seemed to crackled at him, a shade of blue lighting showering about the lock. A bite of electricity ran through his fingers, as if he'd just been given a static shock, causing Harry to jump and pull away from it. The energy disappeared, fading back into a box that looked just like any other.

Now he had proof that this was the right one. Surely if he could unlock things with magic, there was also magic that could lock things up more securely than a non magical lock. But he was prepared for a challenge.

It took him several minutes to settle on the proper image that would help him to open the door. His anger with Lockhart was a good source of fuel, but Harry realized he didn't really know how a dial lock worked. He knew you had to spin the dial to the right number, but not much more than that.

So rather than staring at it as he had done this morning, he settled on remembering how it looked in it's open state. The memory was blurry, as he hadn't been paying much attention to the wall when he'd last been here. The click of the lock from this morning, the crisp snap it had made, was another idea he added. For good measure, he began chanting as well.

"Open, open, open"

That emerald would be his, Harry promised himself. He had suffered too much because of it. It would be his revenge on Lockhart.

"Open, open, _open_."

A whirling noise started up, along with the sound of electricity crackling away. Harry grumbled in irritation. He imagined his hands being covered in rubber gloves, a substance he knew was resistant to electricity due to one of the science books he had read during his times in the library. Eyes still closed, he pressed his fists against the safety deposit box door and _shoved_.

"Open!" he growled, opening his eyes scowling at the door.

And it did.

Along with all the others. There was a small explosion, as the doors nearest to him seemed to crumple and concave more that open. The ones closest to him breaking off from it's hinges rather than unlocking. It gave off one final burst of blue light, rising up as if to attack him, but Harry's hands remained unaffected. When he pulled his hands away, the door fell away with a clatter.

Behind where it had been was the grey tray, which slid easily from its home. Unsurprisingly, it too was locked, the small grey circle at the top indicating where a key should go in order to open it.

Harry brushed his finger over it, imagining it turning, using his finger as the key. It twisted under his touch and with a soft click, the covering of the tray popped up. He set it on one of the desks, and slowly, reverently, he lifted up the lid.

The white light of his orb seemed, if anything, to make the jewels dazzle more brightly than the day he had first seen them. They all lay before him, in the same positions as before, delicate and fantastic and _shining_. He hesitated to touch something so beautiful, his grubby fingers hovering above them, tracing their outlines.

With an impulsive rush he reached out and felt the smoothness of the elegant pearls. A sense of wonder overcame him as it seemed as if the sounds of the ocean, the crashing of waves and calling of seagulls seemed to fill the room. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself standing on a beach, the warm sun shining on his face and the salty sea air combing through his hair.

Emboldened he picked up the tiny diamond bracelets, only for nothing to happen. He paused to listen for a moment only to hear a rustle behind him. He spun around looking for the source of the sound only to find the room still empty. Sounds of pattering feet had him turning again.

"Who's there?" He called, not expecting and answer but hesitant of the possibility. Something was making noise, and he had no knowledge of what it could be.

Soft childish giggles came from the space right next to his ear, as if someone were leaning over his shoulder. It startled him, causing him to flinch and drop the bracelet. Immediately the giggles stopped and silence ensued. Harry held his breath as the moments passed, and when no more rustling sounds came, he let out a sigh.

What strange and fascination jewelry pieces these were. Magic was mind boggling. To be able to feel the ocean and hear laughter from touch a piece

Harry bent down and picked up the diamond bracelet. The giggles started again, and he hurriedly put it back on the tray. Unknowingly his fingertips brushed over the bright red ruby, just the slightest touch, but it was enough. He was overcome with a stinging pain and then a sucking sensation that was next to impossible to pull away from.

He pulled, and pulled, using even his other hand to try and pull his fingertip from where it seemed glued to the crimson stone. Only when he threw his full force behind trying to get away, did the suction stop. No longer connected, he went crashing backwards, his arm the only buffer between his body and the wall.

What was _that_!? Harry looked down at his finger and was surprised to find blood, a few small droplets smeared on a line that looked to be the same as a paper cut. Putting it to his lips, he sucked on the digit, looking back at the ruby with dismay. He wouldn't be touching that again anytime soon.

It occurred to him that Lockhart had offered his classmates the chance to view these dangerous items, and hadn't been surprised when one of them had touched one. Had he _wanted_ one of them to get sucked into that ring? He surely hadn't cared.

With everything that had just happened with the other objects, Harry was now hesitant to go back and pick up the emerald. After all, he didn't know what the effects were yet. It was his cousin who had picked it up before, and while he hadn't seemed to suffer any ill effects from having touched it, that didn't mean nothing had happened. He felt a pull towards it, to come closer and caress it. With several new experiences under his belt in such a short amount of time, he knew he should be wary. He knew nothing of magic, what it could really do, and he did not want to find out in such a detrimental way as the ruby had offered.

Anyways, was it worth the risk of whatever it might do? What could he do with it once he had it? Would he really be able to sell it?

His back throbbed momentarily. The thought of what Lockhart had promised him, and what had really happened played like a reel at the reminder. Yes, it was worth it. Even if he could do nothing else, it would be a worthwhile keepsake and a reminder of his first steps to freedom and independence.

Harry fazed at the emerald tucked into its slot, the object that had started this downfall of his. In a way, it had also led to his subsequent rising. It was always going to end on a bad not, Harry thought, as there was nothing he could have done to make the Dursleys love him or even like him, apart from having never shown up in the first place. He wondered at who's decision it had been to leave him with that family. Likely, he would never know. But this stone had made it all happen faster, and thankfully brought Harry's awareness to a place where he could take matters into his own hands.

He was along in this world, and now that he knew about it, he could start changing things, and taking care of himself.

Instead of touching the emerald with his bare hand, he pulled down his overlong sleeve and wrapped it about his fingers. Gently, he picked up the green stone, watching is it's shine seemed to wink at him. He looked away from it, fumbling as he tried to put it in his pocket without coming into any actual direct contact with it.

Once the pocket was safely zipped closed, he had to decide what to do next. Looking over the other jewelry items, he concluded that none of _them_ would be worth what ever risk they held. Not even the ocean song of the pearls. However, he did want Lockhart to understand that it had been he, Harry, whom had taken the jewel, rather than some random smuggler. If he just left things as they were, it might not be obvious enough. Should he write the man a letter?

Luckily, the desks were stocked with small pencils and notepads. He took them in hand and scribbled a small note.

 _I take this as payment for the suffering I endured because of you. Our promise is off._  
 _There will be no favor._

He hesitated on signing it with his name. Not only would it be a clear indicator for the police for who had broken in, but if this magical world were really and truly real, then there was a chance he could get in trouble with someone there as well. Instead, with a flourish, he add his initials at the end.

 _H.P._

He had never signed anything before, having never had a reason to do so. It made him feel accomplished, as he folded the slip of paper up and tucked it into where the emerald had sat. Closing the lid, he returned the tray to it's compartment. Unfortunately, he had damaged the safety deposit box door irreparably, so he left it sitting on the floor.

It had been so simple, he thought, to break into a bank and take the jewel. He knew somewhere in his mind that what he was doing was considered wrong, on many levels. To take something that wasn't yours was unjust and unfair, theft as it was called. To Harry, though, in this instance, it was fitting. It was payment, not theft, even if he wasn't asking permission in the first place. And anyways, if Vernon and Petunia were going to insist that he was a thief, when he had done nothing of the sort up until now, the he might as well do something deserving of the title. It wasn't like he was stealing from some poor defenseless person, unlike the bully that was Dudley.

Looking around one last time as he prepared to leave, he noticed something different from the last time he had been here. Apart from the missing deposit box doors flung everywhere, and his bag and stomach discharge still spread out on the floor, everything in the room seemed to remain unchanged. Except for one black lump, sitting in the corner. He moved over to investigate it, discovering that it was a bag of sorts, although rectangular in shape.

His curiosity and lack of inhibitions, enhanced by the fever that still dulled his mind, got to the better of him as he opened the bag. The little white globe had followed him over, illuminating the inside. There were stacks upon stacks of paper, each bundled into neat little packages with rubber bands. Taking one out, he recognized the face of the queen stamped on to the paper on top. It was a 10 quid note! He ran his finger along to top, the flipping of papers showing him that the entire stack was made of 10s. Another bundle showed 20s, and another was 5s. One bundle even had a the tiny digits of a 50 scrawled on it!

His first thought was that there was more money in the bag before him than Harry would likely ever see again in his lifetime! He wondered how many numbers would need to be strung in a row to calculate the total. The next thought that came to mind was what he should do about it, if anything. He had just finished rationalizing his taking of the emerald, but here was a huge load of money that had nothing to do with his revenge, tempting him.

But wait, Harry thought, Vernon had mentioned he had received service here before. Surely Harry could safely assume that his ex-uncle had an account here? If he took a few of these bundles, it would be like taking the money from his ex-relatives, just as he'd wished he'd done before leaving.

Before he could decide on his course of action, there was a loud thump. Harry jumped in surprise, his head whipping around towards the vault door, where a creaking sound could be heard. He watched as, slowly, the metal poles that fed into the walls, keeping the door securely shut, began to recede towards the middle of the door. Harry's mind froze.

He rushed back towards his backpack, and began frantically stuffing all the things that had fallen out back inside and zipped it closed. There was no time to worry about the vomit or the doors or anything else that might have been left. It was time to leave.

He clutched the bag close, trying to build an image of where he could step to. Back to Magnolia Crescent Park, or to his school, or even just to the entrance of the bank? He only had moments to decide, and had yet to make a decision when the giant metal door began to creak, pulling its way out of the wall. His magic, however, had already taken over, and as he began fading from sight, the magic breaking him down into itty bitty pieces of vacuumed smoke, for one short instance he was surprised to find the equally shocked face of Lockhart staring back at him from around the vault door. And then he was gone.

With far more grace than he had displayed this morning, Harry kept himself from falling as he stumbled into existence behind one of the white marble pillars that stood at the front of the bank. While he hadn't consciously made the decision to appear here, it was close enough that he hadn't been thrown for a loop.

Why was Lockhart here? Had he assumed Harry would come back? That he knew Harry would want revenge after he didn't fulfill his promise? How had he even gotten inside?

The bank was still closed, as it was a Sunday, but there were several cars in the parking lot. Harry held his breath, peaking around the pole, but relaxed when he realized that none of them were police cars.

He knew he needed to leave the area. Lockhart could come back out, might even be able to step out like Harry did, and accost him. As stealthily as he could, he took off down the stairs, keeping as close to the stone railing as he could. When he reached the bottom, he straightened himself, and made his way to the sidewalk, where he blended in with the bystanders who were going about their day.

The air was still cold, but the sun was out now, and warm. Slush filled the streets, already melting in the daylight. The sidewalk filled with snow crunched under his feet, his shoes sinking a few centimeters with each step making it difficult to pull them back out. As the adrenaline bled from his system, he felt himself stumble. Woozy, his head felt too hot now, as if he were falling into the sun rather than just bathing in it's beams.

His hand held his weight up against the wall as he plunged forward, step by step. It was getting harder to walk, the bag against his back cutting deeper, each footprint falling further into the snow, his legs growing heavier the more he continued on. He recognized it for what it was; he always grew tired after he used too much magic, and he'd done several things today that he hadn't been able to do before.

Glancing up blearily as the sun was blocked momentarily, he saw the sign that was granting him temporary shade.

 _Charing Cross Road_

Even in his exhausted state, the name clicked and Harry felt a small bit of energy roused in himself. Dare he believe it? Lockhart had been the one to provide him with the street name, and he had proved to be untrustworthy. Could there really be a magical world at the end of this road?

Harry pushed himself forward, turning left into a narrow road that lead in the direction the sign pointed. He wanted to see if it was true, if there really was a whole other world filled with freaks like him, freaks who were in fact people who just had the ability to do magic. If he could just find that place, he felt that everything would be find.

It was dark in the alley, with very little sunlight reaching through. A dumpster sat at the entrance, giving of a waft of unmentionable stink. He tripped over something, and trying to correct his balance, ended up over correcting himself, falling further to the other side. He stumbled a little further before the weight of his bag dragged him down and he fell to the ground. Luckily, whatever he had landed on was somewhat soft, but it seemed to sap the remaining energy from his limbs and he felt the world growing dark.

Just… a bit… further…

"Get up kid, your in my spot."

Harry was roughly shaken, brought back to the world of consciousness in an abrupt fashion. He moaned in pain, shuddering away from the touch, and curling further in on himself.

"I said move, boy."

He was pushed on again, and blinking his eyes slowly, he opened them to the sight of shabby, stained, hole torn pants. These pants lead up to a large over-sized coat that was so dirty it was difficult to tell what the original color had been. A white scraggly beard covered the dark skinned face of this body's owner, and was capped with a woolen stocking cap.

Green eyes met wrinkled, squinting black and Harry was startled into a sitting position, clutching his bag. He realized was sitting atop a length of cardboard, a few blankets laid atop them in a mockery of a bed.

"Got anything to eat, kid?" the old man asked gruffly as he bent over and settled in next to where Harry had just been laying.

Still frozen in shock and confusion at where he was and what had happened, his voice struggled to make itself heard.

"Oh… er… yes?"

When the man turned to look at him, motioning to the bag in his arms, Harry startled again. Not knowing what else to do, and having already admitted to having food, he turned away and slowly unzipped his bag.

He found the face of the queen staring back at him.

Harry felt himself go stiff as he was inundated with memories of the money he had stolen. What had he done? The emerald began to burn a hole in his pocket as thoughts of the consequences of his actions. What would the old man think if he saw a child like himself holding this much money? Surely he would understand exactly what had happened. Would he be taken to the police?

Slowly, and with care not to show the old man the full contents of his backpack, he pulled out a box of biscuits and an apple. He set them down in front of them both, watching warily as the man reached out and took the fruit. The old man bit into it with relish and gave a please sound.

"Haven't had an apple in years. It's even more sweet than I remember," he muttered around the chunks of apple in his mouth.

Harry was perplexed. Not eaten an apple in years? What was stopping him from eating one? And then it dawned on him. He was sitting in this mans "spot," which consisted of a cardboard bed hidden from the street behind a dumpster. The man was bedraggled, dirty and unshaven. He was homeless. A tramp, in the words of Unc… no not any longer, _Vernon._

But what did that make Harry? He was equally as homeless, and probably already comparable clothing wise. Only Harry had his magic, and whether he liked it or not, he now also had a sizable sum of money that he could use to get by. There was no need for him to sit on the streets with a cup, begging for coins of passers by.

Guilt seeped into him at the thought of what he had done. He was exactly as Petunia and Vernon had claimed. A thief. And there was no amount of rationalization that would explain away what he had done. He had stolen money from a bank, no better than a common criminal.

Even worse, Lockhart knew about it, and when it was revealed that there was money missing, he would know exactly who had taken it. It was far more payment than what their bargain had been, and was in fact completely unrelated. He would have the authorities, both normal and possibly magical if they existed, chasing after him. And there was no where he could go.

He felt the burning in his eyes build as the man next to him went about opening the box of biscuits, ignorant of what was going through Harry's mind. Curling into a ball, he pressed his eyes to his knees, and let the tears fall. He shuddered with silent sobs, the sound of crunching echoing in his ears and covering the slight hitches in his breathing.

Nothing ever went right. He must have the worst luck in the entire world. His back still ached and had started itching at the corners of the bandages where the tape held it to his skin. He was still dizzy and tired, hot despite the frozen air and snow. But it had still been his choice to take the money, and it would be worse if he couldn't own up to it.

Something ruffled his hair, and for a moment he froze. Long thick fingers bounced against his scalp softly, or as soft as they could manage.

"It'll be alright boy."

It was a simple statement, but Harry felt his heart warm just a little. Never before had he been treated with such kindness. This man knew nothing of him, and if he did he might change his treatment of Harry, but he still felt comforted by this stranger's words.

The man was right in fact. He might be a thief now, and he would have to live with that fact. Although he could try to atone for it, the stain would always be there on his mind, impossible to forget. But it would be alright. Because he would make it alright. He gave one long sniff and wiped the rest of the tears from his eyes.

It was his money now, and there was no going back. There was no way he could take it back to the bank, as he'd either be arrested, or forced to return to the Dursleys. He would be living on the street from now on and only dependent on himself. There were worse things than stealing a bit of money that he might have to do to survive.

"Thank-you," Harry whispered to the man, before he took his own cookie and began to nibble on it in contemplative silence.

"I know a runaway when I see one." The man's voice was gruff but soft. "I'm a kind man. I'll not ask questions, and you're welcome to share my alley until you decide to return home or can stand on your own two feet."

Unwittingly, Harry felt a sense of suspicion creep into his mind. He really _had_ never met anyone who was this kind before. Lockhart floated to mind, the deceptive smile that had lured them all in. So he was surprised and somewhat comforted, in an odd sense of the word, when the man continued.

"However, nothing on the street is free. You'll learn that soon enough, but the first rule you'll need to learn is payment. This food'll do for now, but you'll need to think of something come tomorrow, for each day you'll wanna be staying here."

Harry nodded. He understood such rules. It had been his entire way of life up until now, chores in exchange for food and shelter, and there was no reason for it to be changing now.

The biscuit box was soon empty, and Harry reached for his bag again to pull out the water he had stored there. His eyes met those of the queen once more, only this time she seemed to be smiling at him benevolently. Here was his first transaction. He pulled a few 20 pound notes from the bundle it was in, tucking the rest safely back under the food.

"Here," he shoved the notes at the old man who looked at him in disbelief. "Take it. This should be enough for at least a few nights..."

Rather than taking them, the old man continued to stare at the bills in his hand. For all that he had been kind to Harry so far, is eyes were hard and dim, life having beaten this man down so fiercely that he had given up, and could no longer trust. Harry felt a vibration of sympathy at the feeling. He knew what it was like. But unlike Harry, who had these gifts of stepping, unlocking doors, and a whole host of magic he had yet to uncover, this man didn't have that little spark of joy that had kept Harry going for so long. He had nothing to help him through the harder days.

The Dursleys didn't have that little spark either, as much as they tried to pretend they were perfect and happy. He almost wanted to pity them, but they were the worst sorts of people, and his anger would always over power any other emotion towards them.

If he could somehow bring that spark of joy to someone, to share his own little fountain of happiness and prevent anyone more from turning out like the Dursleys, he would do his best.

"Take it," he insisted. "I'm not going back, so I'd appreciate a few days of lee way before I can figure out what I want to do."

"I can't take your money boy," blue eyes were still glue to the bills. "Not until you understand how scare and precious such a resource is."

Harry was hesitant to mention it but he not only needed to compensate him for allowing him to stay with him, but he wanted to repay the old man for his unexpected kindness.

"I have more. It's fine." With that, he set the bills in the lap next to him, and turned to drink some water.

Several moments of silence past. There was a rustle, and the purple blur on the edge of his vision disappeared. The money had been accepted. It almost seemed like the sound of the wind, but Harry's ears strained to catch the whisper that came from the old man's lips.

"You must be my Christmas angel, boy."

Harry smiled to himself. Small flakes of snow began to fall, illuminating the darkening sky as they caught the light of the street lamps flickering to life. The old man picked up the blankets and wrapped one about himself, before offering the other to Harry. He shivered and took it with thanks. It was threadbare and thin, reminiscent of the one he'd left in his cupboard. If only he had brought it with him too, and not just his clothes, they could be a bit warmer. Maybe he could buy a new one tomorrow, one for each of them.

As he fell to the edge of sleep once more, it occurred to him that maybe he could use magic to somehow keep them warm. He didn't want to catch them on fire of course, but just a little heat to ward off the snow.

"Warm, warm, warm," he whispered into the air, images in his head of the heater in the Dursley's living room, the sun on a hot summer day, the oven in the kitchen when it was cooking the Sunday roast.

It was as if several more layers of blankets over came him. The sigh that came from the body next too him, deep and raspy, told him it had reached his companion as well. Harry made himself more comfortable before settling in to sleep.

So many things had changed in such a short amount of time. He was out of his depths and lacking in knowledge. He didn't know where he was exactly, and he didn't know where he would be tomorrow. He didn't know if he could trust this man, or if he would regret any of the actions he had just taken. He didn't know what he would do come morning, and he didn't know what would happen from here on out. But there was one thing he knew.

He was free.

* * *

Yay, Harry is free! And rich~

And yay, I hit 30k for NaNoWriMo. So you get another chapter~

Still mostly unedited, I may come back to tweak little things. I've got the next two chapters almost written, but I've decided to follow the pattern of getting at least three chapters ahead before posting one, just so if I need to change things or add more foreshadowing based on what I've written later, I've still got a bit of leeway. I learned this from the author Athey, who updated her epic story Again and Again, which I had to stop all writing and read all over again because it's so amazing, and she mentioned that in her author's note. So I might not hit 50k before the end of November due to reading, but hopefully I'll keep writing even after its over.

Thank-you geetac, Almonda, Outofthisworldgal, All-Good-Marauders, jh831, randomplotbunny, and hellopurpletiger for the reviews! You guys gave me the boost to get back into writing even after I fell behind~ I'm glad to know I gave people some hope despite the heaviness of the last chapter.

Thank-you all for your follows and favorites. I hope you continue to enjoy~


End file.
